


Everywhere

by sadluversandgiants (saladinthesky)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:59:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saladinthesky/pseuds/sadluversandgiants
Summary: Louis Tomlinson loves living in Los Angeles. So he's a little hesitant about moving to a Greek island with his mom and sister. It sounds beautiful and...boring. And it is, until he meets a defamed pop star by the name of Harry Styles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiiiiiii just a few quick things!
> 
> 1\. Though this story is set is real places, I've fictionalized them in ways that suit the narrative. The island of Hydra is truly beautiful and all of the descriptions of it are based of my memories of visiting there. Same goes for Athens, Amsterdam, and all the other cool spots Harry and Louis visit during this fic. So if there are inaccuracies, it's because I've forgotten some details about these places or have made intentional changes.
> 
> 2\. These characters are completely fictional! I obviously don't know Harry or Louis personally, so everything that happens in this fic is 10000000000% not meant to represent them IRL and is 1000000000000% a product of my imagination.
> 
> 3\. This is a work in progress and I will be updating as frequently as possible.
> 
> 4\. There will be some mentions of drug use, references to past verbal/emotional abuse, and sexual content within this fic.
> 
> 5\. Some songs that I adore and have been listening to while writing this are:
> 
> "Supercut" by Lorde
> 
> "Super Far" by LANY
> 
> "Cooking Up Something Good" by Mac Demarco
> 
> "Pink + White" by Frank Ocean
> 
> "Caught In Time, So Far Away" by You'll Never Get to Heaven
> 
> "Be The One" by Dua Lipa
> 
> aaand "Everywhere" by Fleetwood Mac (obviously!)
> 
> 6\. Thanks to anyone who reads this :-)

Everyone thought his mom was crazy, up and moving to Greece like it was nothing--practically overnight. Louis was with them. He'd only just graduated from high school in California, got accepted to the University of Chicago, and suddenly he was expected to spend all summer on the Mediterranean. Which, admittedly, didn't sound like the _worst_ punishment in the world. Certainly not what Dante had in mind when writing about the circles of hell. But still. Louis has friends in California, and lots of them. He's leaving behind Liam and Zayn and a life he was quite content with. And his younger sister is leaving behind even more than he is--friends and fans of her YouTube channel. She's a semifamous beauty guru.

  
But neither Louis nor Lottie protested too loudly about the sudden move, because they knew their mom needed it. After the divorce, nothing seemed to make her happy. Smiles were fleeting and false--vague apparitions that misted into nothing before Louis could even catch a good glimpse. Like an early morning fog, rolling back to sea before you're awake to see it.

  
The flight was long. Louis had never flown before, but the initial excitement of free pretzels and soda quickly wore off and left a stale taste in his mouth. There was turbulence the entire time--especially over the Atlantic, when the lights dimmed and everyone tried to sleep beneath pilled fleece blankets. He got jostled in the closet-size bathroom and nearly pissed all over himself.

  
The four-hour layover in London seems to last forever. Heathrow is cavernous and quiet so early in the morning. Louis stretches out across three chairs, his head on his balled-up jacket, but sleep doesn't come. His mom, at least, seems to be steadily returning to her former self. She's joking with Lottie about taking a shower in the bathroom sink. Lottie is insisting that dirty hair is totally okay--maybe even desirable--because it's easier to style that way.

  
"Mom," Louis says, "Shouldn't we have planned a longer layover? I would've loved to check out your home."

  
Despite her English upbringing, Louis and Lottie had never been to visit their mom's hometown of Doncaster. Both of them speak in a way that their Californian friends find funny--tinged with the barest hint of their mom's British accent, but ripe with all the Americanisms of two kids raised in the shady, yet sunscorched, suburbs of Los Angeles.

  
"Sameee," Lottie says, glancing up from her phone.

  
Their mom shakes her head. "As much fun as it'd be to show you around, it'll have to wait until we're settled. Maybe later this summer."

  
Louis nods and closes his eyes again. Opens them when Lottie asks what their new island home is called, again.

  
"Hydra," their mom says.

  
"Who are you telling?" Louis is naturally suspicious whenever Lottie's on her phone. Her fans demand a lot of her, and he's too protective to be okay the way they all want a piece of her for themselves.

  
"Someone. No one." Lottie is evasive because she knows her older brother too well.

  
"I swear, Lot, you're going to have some stalker catching the next plane to Greece."

  
"I wish I were famous enough to have stalkers."

  
Louis sits upright. "That's not funny."

  
"Chill." Lottie rolls her eyes. "Why are you being so--?"

  
"Lottie. Louis. Enough." Their mom opens her wallet and takes out a credit card. "I'm getting a Coke. And some Tylenol, probably. Do you need anything?"

  
They shake their heads. As soon as she's gone, Lottie wrinkles her nose at Louis.

  
"Good going, bro."

  
"What are you talking about?"

  
"Mom's got a headache because of your worrying. Why do you think she's getting Tylenol?"

  
"Lottie, I swear to--"

  
"No. Fucking. Way." Lottie is staring at her phone, aglow with an Instagram notification.

  
"Lot? Lottie, what is it?" Louis scoots closer, until he can see the screen over her shoulder. It's a direct message from someone called @iluvlottiealot: _Omg Lottie! I just googled Hydra and you're not gonna believe this…there are NO CARS on the WHOLE ISLAND!!_

  
"What a fucking troll," she mutters. Louis is surprised her phone screen doesn't crack with the force as she thumbs a response: _um no way???? you're lying_.

  
The reply is almost immediate. It's a screenshot of a Wikipedia page.

  
"Nononononono nooo." Lottie shoves her phone and Louis and covers her eyes. "I can't look. Just read it and tell me she's fucking with us."

  
Louis takes the phone and scans the screenshot.

  
"Hello? I'm not getting any younger here."

  
Louis runs a hand through his hair. "Well…the thing is, there's no reason to freak out. There are _some_ cars on the island. Technically speaking."

  
Lottie's head snaps up. "Louis. What the fuck are you saying?"

  
"I'm saying there are garbage trucks."

  
" _Garbage trucks_." Lottie says it with the unrehearsed unfamiliarity of someone trying out a foreign word for the first time. Like the embarrassing, gringo way Louis pronounces menu items from his favorite Mexican food truck on West Olympic.

  
"Yeah. And besides that, nothing. No cars."

  
"But that doesn't make sense?" Lottie sounds a little hysterical and Louis worries that those are actual tears making her eyes sparkle. "How do they get around the island?"

  
"They walk. Or ride donkeys." At the last moment, Louis adds a cheerful lilt to his voice. Like nothing sounds more enticing than a donkey ride thousands of miles from home. But he lifts his voice too late, turning it into a question: Donkeys? As if he too is starting to fear that their mom is just as batshit as the neighbors believed.

  
"I'm going to die," Lottie says, grabbing her phone back. "We're going to die."

  
"Okay, no. This is going to be awesome, walking and riding donkeys. Think of how fit you'll get. Going to the store will automatically be a workout."

  
"Are you saying I need to workout?"

  
"No, obv--"

  
"Are you calling me _fat_?"

  
A passing couple looks over at her shrill question. The two women, holding hands and wearing matching neck pillows, give Louis a hard look before continuing on.  
"I didn't--" He stops. They're already too far away to hear him explain how he would never, not in a million years, call his little sister fat. He sighs and grabs headphones from his carryon. "We've gotta make the best of this, Lots. For mom's sake."

  
Lottie locks her phone, crosses her eyes, and glares as he struggles to untangle his headphones. It's punishment. He knows because usually she offers to help him undo the knots. With her long, fake fingernails-- _talons_ , he calls them when he really wants to piss her off--she's far better at dealing with a tangled cord than he is with his own bitten, blunted nails. But now she simply watches.

  
"How can you act like so above it?"

  
Louis gives up with the knots and shoves one headphone into his ear.

  
"Above what?"

  
"Above this move. You're acting like it doesn't affect you--like I'm bitchy for being upset about leaving LA for this--this _island_."

  
She says island like a curse. Maybe it is a curse, this move. Maybe he'll be relieved when summer ends and he finally gets to step foot on the U of Chicago campus. He said his goodbyes to In-N-Out the night before last, ordering a four-by-four and animal fries off the secret menu and making himself totally sick. But only now is he starting to realize the finality of that Uber ride to LAX. Even once he returns to America, he'll be in Illinois. There are no In-N-Outs in Illinois.

  
Louis chooses a hip-hop playlist and turns the volume up until it nearly hurts his ear. He probably looks ridiculous, bobbing his head with a mess of cords dangling from his head. He didn't even get enough knots out to put both headphones in properly.

  
"What are you listening to?"

  
Louis only looks over because Lottie's voice has changed. Lost its barbs and splinters. She's approaching him gently this time, as one does a stranger's dog in the park. With one hand hesitantly extended, half-expecting a snub.

  
"Kanye."

  
"You don't normally listen to rap."

  
Louis shrugs. "Liam made me a playlist. It's like, a parting gift. Or something."

  
He doesn't react when Lottie reaches up and takes the headphone out of his ear. Just watches as she untangles them in a few easy movements. Then she gives him one and puts the other in her left ear.

  
"Can I see?"

  
He hands her his phone. She scrolls to the top of the playlist and cackles.

  
" _Only the Sickest Bangers by Liam Payne_? God, of course that's the name of this playlist. That's so Liam."

  
Louis nods, forgetting about the headphones stretched taut between them. It falls out of his ear and Lottie grabs it, offering it to him again. She shifts closer, allowing the headphones to slacken between them.

  
"I like this one." She chooses a Migos song Louis doesn't recognize and leans against his shoulder. He wants to relax at their closeness, but he doesn't. He can't. Even when his mom and sister are in the same room as him, he worries. He worries because his dad never gave a shit. The worrying started when Louis was too young to remember, before he was aware of the full breadth of his dad's apathy. Back when empty, emotionless Father's Days were cluttered with far too many expensive presents while mom ensured their dad didn't lift a finger while he lay in bed with a stack of sickly-sweet, syrupy pancakes. Back then, the hate Louis felt for his father seemed strange, wrong. Love for his father was supposed to be automatic, natural as breathing. And yet, his dad's indifference was too vast and too deep for familial affection to grow like weeds. His indifference was vaster and deeper than any amount of worry Louis count lend his mom and sister, but still he tried to make up the difference. To be there for them, no matter what.

  
He loves them both too much for it to be work. But sometimes he wishes for a little spare energy to expend in selfish ways, worrying about only himself.

  
\--

  
If this was a simple vacation, Louis would've already stripped off his travel clothes and thrown himself into the Mediterranean. But their big suitcases and stuffed backpacks serve as a reminder: This is anything but a simple vacation. He knew there was nothing simple about the move last night, as his mom struggled to get the keys for their Airbnb in downtown Athens from a tattoo parlor below the apartment. Lottie had leaned in and whispered something about getting matching Greek tattoos that say: _We're fucked_. Louis elbowed her, glad their mom was too preoccupied to hear.

  
They labored up three narrow flights of stairs. Louis made five trips to get all the bags, insisting his mom and Lottie check out the place while he went back down to the street. By the end, his shirt was soaked through with sweat and he felt lightheaded. The mosquitoes whispering around his head didn't help matters. Instead of catching his breath, he spent a few minutes trying to swat them away.

  
"Mom!" he called, walking deeper into the Airbnb. "Why are there-- _goddammit_." He clapped, smashing a mosquito between his palms. He hurried to the kitchen and washed his hands off with lemon-scented dish soap. Dried them on a towel and followed the sound of voices up a narrow wooden ladder.

  
He reached the second floor of the apartment and saw the reason for all the mosquitoes: None of the windows had screens. And Lottie seemed to have opened all of them.

  
"We really, _really_ need to close these." Louis rushed forward and slammed the nearest window shut.

  
"Uh, Louis."

  
Louis whirled, hands on his hips. "What is it, Lottie?"

  
"Look out the window."

  
Louis rolled his eyes. "And why should I?"

  
"Just do it, dumbass."

  
Their mom cleared her throat in disapproval at Lottie's language but nodded that Louis should, indeed, look out the window. So he did.

  
"Oh…wow," Louis breathed. He had seen some beautiful things back in America. There was the road trip to the Grand Canyon, camping in Yosemite, driving twice across the Golden Gate Bridge. Once with his parents and once with Liam and Zayn when they went to the Bay for a Warriors game.

  
But he'd never seen anything quite like the Acropolis. Raised high above Athens, it spanned across a plateau and had golden uplighting that made it striking even in the middle of the night. It looked godly, untouchable. Again, Louis wished his mom had left some time to explore. But they boarded a ferry for Hydra first thing in the morning.

  
"Athens is only about an hour from Hydra," one of the dockhands told Louis when she heard him complaining. "Very easy to return."

  
Lottie mumbled something about how she'd be returning to Athens _very_ often. Once she realized they had Sephora, she seemed somewhat happier than before.

  
Louis and Lottie shared a sleeve of chocolate chip cookies during the ferry ride and stumbled off the boat after the surprisingly brief voyage. Louis thought the dockhand was lying about the closeness of the island to mainland Greece, but the trip was over before he'd even clicked through a quarter of Liam's playlist.

  
The harbor they found themselves in was so, so bright. Louis fumbled for his aviators and Lottie whined that her eyeballs had literally melted out of her freaking skull.

  
As their mom looked for a donkey to hire, Louis turned in a slow circle. Festive bunting was strung from posts around the bustling harbor and buildings--most painted white, but others made of naked gray stone with blue shutters and orange roofs--rose on all sides. They were stacked impossibly close, a far cry from the vegetation-filled gaps between houses in the Hollywood Hills. And further up, above the horseshoe of shops and houses, a tangle of dry-looking mountainside. It didn't look unlike the natural landscapes of Southern California, which struck Louis as weird. How was it possible that they had travelled so far and he was already able to notice similarities between Hydra and home?

  
They hired three donkeys to take them to their new house. Louis had intended the whole workout bit to be nothing more than a joke, but he found himself huffing as they scaled the steep, winding streets. The whole time they walked, Mom tried out her Greek on the man leading the donkeys. Her knowledge of the language was one of the reasons Louis knew that this move was not nearly as spontaneous as everyone back home believed. Mom had been learning Greek for months before plane tickets were bought, and she had visas prearranged as well. An internationally known author, she was moving with plans to set her newest novel on the Greek islands. The change in setting was, chiefly, for research.

  
The man with the donkeys laughed a few times, not in a cruel way, and offered suggestions on improving her pronunciation. In English, he said that her Greek was already coming along quite well.

  
"Americans have a hard time," he said. "And most are too lazy to try. I think you have a phrase to explain our language."

  
"It's all Greek to me?" Lottie guessed.

  
"Yes," the man grinned, "Because you find it so…confused."

  
Everyone laughed and the man began to point out things as they passed by. There was a family-owned pharmacy, painted pastel yellow with a bright red cross above the door. An empty plaza with cypress trees and bronze statues. Most bizarrely, a basketball court with a wide, welcoming view of the sparkling sea below.  
"No way," Louis whistled. "Do the Warriors practice here in the offseason?"

  
The man smiled, obviously not sure what Louis was referring to, and they continued on. Finally, they stopped at a plain-looking house with busted-out windows. There were boards carelessly propped against them, not even blocking the entirety of the gaping holes. A few chickens clucked by and Louis met Lottie's freaked-out gaze. He had to take control of the situation before she burst into tears.

  
"Is this it?" he asked, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. By the looks of things, he wouldn't be surprised if there was broken glass to step over in the living room and a squatter sleeping in the kitchen.

  
"Yes." Their mom was beaming like this was exactly what she expected from their new house. "This is it."

  
"Uh…awesome." Louis threw his arm around Lottie's shoulder and squeezed. Their mom paid the man and offered him a generous tip, which he politely refused.  
"Some will not be happy you are here," he explained. "Families have lived here a long time and they are not used to new people. But I am happy. Welcome to Hydra."  
Their mom thanked him in Greek and Louis tried to parrot her. The man laughed and began his descent to the port.

  
They spent all morning and most of the afternoon cleaning. Then, unpacking. Louis room was hung with a thick haze cobwebs and the whole house needed to be swept out. But it was sparsely furnished and his sheets fit the lumpy twin-size bed perfectly. He found Lottie's pink-and-white checkered sheets and gave her bed the same treatment while she pulled clothes out of her bags and eyed the wrinkles wordlessly.

  
"I already hate it here," she whispered, more to the sweater she was hugging than Louis.

  
He didn't know how to respond, so he fluffed her pillow and told her to drink some water. The hike from the harbor made them all sweat profusely.

  
When sunlight began to spread itself over the horizon in anticipation of night, Louis announced he was going to the water.

  
"Who's with me?" he asked, looking hopefully between his mom and sister. Neither of them spoke.

  
"I've got too much going on right now," their mom said, not unhappily. "But you and Lottie go. Have fun. And here, get some ice cream."

  
They exchanged most of their money back in America. She handed him ten euro.

  
"I'm too tired." Lottie was already walking back to her room.

  
"You sure, Lots?"

  
She didn't respond. Louis looked helplessly at his mom, who shrugged and offered a small, hopeful smile.

  
"Give her time."

  
Louis nodded. He gave his mom a quick hug, pocketed the money, and took off down the mountain.

  
Now he's sitting on a small beach, letting water trickle from the tips of his hair onto his towel. The horizon is on fire; aglow with the first of many sunsets he'll get to experience on this island. He knows it should fill him with awe. But fortune's smile has never seemed so macabre, so twisted. Sure, he's in a beautiful place, but he's alone. Lottie's alone. Their mom is alone. None of them know how to communicate with each other, and they can't communicate with anyone else. Louis and Lottie can't even speak the same language as the Greek people who have lived here for so many years. So many generations.

  
He misses California. He misses Liam and Zayn and all the stupid-perfect nights they spend stuck in traffic and riding Splash Mountain over and over again at Disneyland. He misses everything.

  
He presses his thumbs against his closed eyes. He can't cry. Especially not when his mom and Lottie are around to see. But even now, alone on this small yawn of sand, he can't let himself feel sad. He can't waste time feeling sorry for himself when Lottie is having a worse go of it.

  
Louis will leave at the end of the summer. Lottie won't.

  
She'll take online courses, graduate early from high school, and start applying to colleges in America and Europe. Probably America. Probably LA.

  
A splash makes him lift his head. Impatiently scrubbing at his eyes, he blinks until his vision clears and watches someone plunge face-first beneath the whitewater. Either he's seeing things or…nope, they're naked. The water isn't high enough to hide their ass as they stand up and slick their dark hair back from their face.  
The beach is deserted aside from Louis, but still. It's not completely dark yet. Someone could easily be walking along the ribbon of stone path and catch this person in a moment of proud nakedness.

  
_Cocky_ , Louis thinks. Probably some tourist who thinks he owns the whole island, just because he's spending loads of money on a whirlwind vacation.  
This overconfident tourist might be annoying, but that annoyance isn't enough to compel Louis to look away. The figure wades out a bit further before turning around, much to Louis' disappointment. It's not hard to tell: This stranger, annoying as he may seem, isn't bad looking. He might even be decent looking.

  
After dunking himself under once more, the obvious tourist wipes a hand across his wet face and looks at the beach. Louis notes the tattoos spread across his chest, snuggling up to his collarbones and splayed low across his hips. It makes Louis suddenly self-conscious, and he covers up the clumsy, amateur tattoos Zayn poked across his arms last summer. Drunken, thoughtless decisions that Louis usually loves nonetheless.

  
Suddenly, the man in the water seems to notice Louis. Dusk smudges the canvas between them, but Louis thinks he sees the man's eyes rake across him. There is so much ocean, so much air separating them, but Louis still feels somehow vulnerable. He wants to wrap his towel around his bare shoulders, but he can't move. His insides are as fiery as the sunset moments before. He feels an unfamiliar sense of fear burning through him, rendering him powerless. And it's so unfair. Louis isn't the naked one. This piercing stranger should be the one clutching at himself and acting ashamed. So why is it the opposite?

  
The man smiles, just for a second. Even from the shore, Louis can tell it's a feral show of teeth. The smile of a predator who knows his prey has been sufficiently spooked.

  
He tips back into the water, spreading his arms and staring up at the sky. His body is pale in the darkening waves, and Louis can tell he's very tall. Louis glances between the ocean and the first winks of stars scattered across the gathering dark. He thinks that this stranger looks like a star himself, and the rest of the sea is an empty sky. So perhaps, then, this stranger is less a star and more the sun. He is the only visible thing in the entire universe.

  
"The hell," he mutters, running a hand through his damp hair. "Get a fucking grip."

  
He stands, able to move now that the man's eyes aren't on him, and pulls his shirt on. He grabs his towel, slips into his sandals, and trudges across the pebbly sand. Fatigue is hitting him like a plume of smoke, billowing up from a campfire and claiming him with its stench. When he reaches the path, he stops and leans against the rough wall of a fortress-looking building.

  
He doesn't know what just happened. How was it possible for a single glance lead to such an overwhelming sense of intimacy? Had jetlag fucked him over so bad, he was imagining trippy, cosmic connections between total strangers? And why did the man smile--could he see the flames, raging through Louis with much more ferocity than anything he'd ever felt?

  
Louis had only come out a couple years ago. He took a girl, Jessica Masters, to homecoming junior year, only to have her try to stick her hand down his pants when he dropped her off. It happened then, as forceful as if he were throwing up down the front of her bejeweled dress, I'M GAY.

  
Thankfully, she wasn't grossed out. She was supercool, and promised to not tell anyone. He came out to Liam and Zayn the next night, and his mom and Lottie the following day. It wasn't long before he was posting on Instagram about actors he crushed on and sharing things on Facebook about LGBTQIA issues. Of course, a few people didn't seem supportive. A girl he knew vaguely from junior high even commented on one such post, _So you've decided you're gay? That's too bad. I'm unfriending you_. Liam saw the comment first and started to type out a comment in response: _FUCK YOU, YOU TRUMP-LOVING IDI_ \-- Louis told him it wasn't worth it. His friends and family supported him completely, and that's what mattered most.

  
During his last year of high school, he had a couple casual boyfriends. Other than that, mostly hookups. He didn't have time for anything more, between worrying about his mom and Lottie. Besides, he never really believed anyone could care for him as much as people seem to care for each other in movies and books. And if he couldn't have the kind of love he'd read about and watched, flings suited him fine.

  
What he'd just experienced, the feelings that crashed over him with as much force as the waves, was wholly unfamiliar. He had the sense to fear it.  
Hydra isn't big, but hopefully it's big enough to ensure Louis never meets this tattooed tourist again.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wake up, wake up, wake _up_!"

Lottie comes racing into Louis' room the next morning, jumping on his bed and grabbing him by the shoulders. His face breaks into a groggy smile, and for a sun-drenched moment, still lacy with sleep, he thinks they're still in California.

"What is it?" he groans, pretending to be upset by the intrusion.

"You're never gonna believe this. _Never_. Not in a million billion trillion years."

"Lots, just tell me what’s going on."

He registers two things at the same time. 1. He's not in his room in LA, with the blue-painted walls and band posters and 2. Lottie is very, very sweaty.

"Did you go on a run?" he says, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. "You know the thing I said about working out--it's not because you're fat."

"God, I don't even care." Lottie pushes him back down onto his pillow and practically squeals, "Okay, now guess."

"Guess _what_?" She's really getting on his nerves.

"Guess who I just saw down at the harbor!"

"The guy who rents donkeys."

"Uh, no. Obviously not him. Do you think I'd have practically killed myself sprinting up here to tell you I saw the guy who rents donkeys?"  
"Who, then?"

"I'll give you a hint: Me and all my friends are in love with him."

"Obama?"

"Not a former American president."

"I honestly have no clue, Lots. Just tell me."

She claps her hands together. " _Harry_."

"Harry?"

"Harry Styles!"

It takes a few moments for Louis to figure out who the hell she's talking about.

"He's that…that dumb pop star, right? With the dumb songs?"

Lottie drags the pillow out from under his head and smacks him with it.

"They. Are. Not. Dumb." Each word is punctuated with a _thump_ , until Louis manages to grab his pillow back.

"You listened to them in like, elementary school. No way you still like that guy." Louis stretches his arms overhead and yawns. "Besides, didn't he get busted for drugs? Guy's a lowlife."

"If you _must_ know, I actually brought two of his posters with me. They're hanging in my room."

"Lottie, some drugged-out loser is nothing to get excited about."

"So he did coke a few times. It's no big deal. His songs are what matter. And his songs are aaamazing."

"What's amazing about, 'Oooh baby, hold me tight / Pretend we'll never see morning light'?" Louis mimics the songs he used to hear blasting from the speaker in Lottie's room.

"That song is _beautiful_."

Louis rolls his eyes. "So. Did you get this joker's autograph, or what?"

"I wish." Lottie looks at her hands. "But his best friend and manager, Niall, was with him. I was too intimidated to say anything. Besides, I look like crap today. No makeup or anything."

When Louis reaches for her, the last thing on his mind is mocking Harry Styles. Because his little sister looks like she could cry about missing her chance to meet this guy. Dumb pop star or not, she cares about him. And Louis cares about her.

"I'll get his autograph for you." He gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. At least, he hopes it's assuring. Not condescending.

"Seriously?"

"I'll go right now." Louis stands up and grabs for the swim trunks he wore last night. They smell briny, like dried kelp, but he drags them on anyway. He picks a red T-shirt out of an unzipped suitcase and finds his aviators buried amongst the mess on the floor. "What do you want him to sign for you?"

"Oh my god, Louis, you're the fucking best!"

Louis winces. If their mom heard Lottie cuss like that, she'd blame Louis, Zayn, and Liam for swearing too much around the house. Their old house.

Lottie runs to her room and returns a few moments later with a poster. Louis tries not to roll his eyes at the flurry of neon-pink, cartoonish hearts bubbling up from the bottom of the poster. This guy is a total asshat.

"Have him sign this," she says, breathless. "Please and thank youuu." She singsongs the last words. Louis grabs the poster so he can see it properly, beyond the mess of emoji-looking hearts. He freezes and immediately wishes he could take back his promise of getting an autograph.

He's seen Harry Styles before. He's seen all of this man, baptizing himself in the shallows of the Mediterranean, a lone light in that starless sky.

\--

Louis passes beneath thick clumps of bougainvillea on his way to the port. They hang like pink clouds, shading the footpaths that cut between the close shoulders of buildings. He wonders why an internationally known star like Harry Styles would spend his vacation here. Sure, he's from England. For a Londoner like Harry, it makes as much sense to visit Greece as it does Angelenos to spend their summer break in Hawaii. But why not choose a more popular destination like Santorini or Mykonos? He'd be spotted by thousands of adoring fans there, and maybe even the paparazzi, on a heavily trafficked island. Isn't that the point--being spotted? Being _known_? For without fans and photographers, what remains to boost your fragile ego?

Louis hangs back when he reaches the harbor. As much as he'd like to forge the autograph and be done with it, he knows Lottie will put this on her Snapchat story. And Instagram, probably. She might even tweet to Styles himself. If that happened, Louis would be fucked. Even if Lottie and her legion of friends and fans didn't detect the fake, Harry would know he didn't sign a cheesy teen poster during his Greek island vacation.

No, Louis has truly backed himself into a corner with this. He shifts from one foot to the other when he catches sight of Harry. The other guy Lottie was shrieking about, Niall, doesn't seem to be around anymore. Maybe Harry wanted to be left alone, or maybe Niall secretly hates spending too much time with entitled, arrogant, corrupting assholes.

Harry is dressed immaculately. His white shirt is halfway unbuttoned, showing off a few of the tattoos Louis saw last night. He barely suppresses a shiver, remembering the soft fronds spread over the sharp of Harry's hipbones. The shirt is tucked into a rather ridiculous pair of pants--shiny, almost like silk, and flared at the bottom. On anyone else, the outfit would be laughable. But Louis can't deny how well the look suits Harry.

Louis realizes he has been adjusting his own outfit as he stares, attempting to smooth the wrinkles in his red T-shirt and dust the crystals of sea salt from his trunks. His aviators, at least, are Ray-Bans. Don't celebrities care about shallow things like brand recognition? Like those pants Harry's wearing. They're probably Gucci.

He shakes himself. Harry is a terrible role model to Lottie and millions of other impressionable adolescents. He doesn't deserve compliments on his overpriced outfits. He needs to make a public apology for snorting coke off some stripper for the whole world to see.

Louis walks toward Harry then, propelled by this sudden burst of righteousness. Louis, Liam, and Zayn might not have been saints back in California. They smoked their fair share of weed and they tried ecstasy at a two-day EDM music festival. But they also didn't have a huge percentage of the global population scrutinizing their every move. Stars are held to a higher standard and they get compensated accordingly. Harry must have millions upon millions in his bank account.

"Can I help you?"

Louis realizes with a start that he's been standing wordlessly in front of Harry's small table. There's a half-drunk smoothie in front of him, strawberry or raspberry judging by the color, as well as a generous assortment of bread, jam, and honey. Cheese from Crete. Louis' mouth is watering now, and he wishes he'd thought of grabbing a granola bar before starting down the mountain.

"I--uh." Oh god, this is absolutely not the guns-blazing way he wanted to start this conversation. Louis needs to backtrack, and start with a bang rather than a whimper. But before he can, Harry leans back in his wicker chair and looks him up and down.

"So that's why you were staring."

"What?"

"Last night. At the beach." He says it as if Louis has already forgotten, which is totally impossible. "You were staring at me. I thought it was my nakedness, but no. You're a fan."

"N-no. Actually I'm not." But as he says it, Harry slips the poster from between Louis' slack fingers. He pushes his breakfast aside and spreads the poster on the table. Sighs heavily.

"I've always thought the hearts were a bit much." He looks up at Louis through long, dark lashes. "Would you agree?"

Louis is horrified by the way this conversation is going.

Harry shrugs. "I suppose you wouldn't agree. You're the one this who brought a poster of me on holiday. Tell me, do you put it up in every hotel room you visit with your mum and dad? Or does it hide in the bottom of your suitcase?"

"I'm not on 'holiday'," comes Louis' rather pathetic comeback. He even throws in air-quotes, just to seem a bit more petulant. God, he's never been so embarrassed.

"Why the sarcasm?" Harry taps his bottom lip with a long index finger. Louis tries, really tries, to ignore that finger. He tries to ignore those lips. "Are you not British?"

Louis shakes his head. "American. My mom--my mom grew up in England. I've got a touch of her accent."

"Ah." Harry nods. "That's why it's so diluted. Like a single squeeze of lemon in water, nothing more. Smart of you to keep it, though. I'll bet it gets you all the girls in America."

"Not girls." Louis wants to punch himself in the face. What is he doing right now--coming out to a disgraced pop star? It doesn't help that the same fire from last night is ravaging his guts, causing utter devastation and making it hard to think.

"Mhm."

Louis doesn't like this noncommittal sound. "What? Are you a homophobe?"

"Quite the opposite," Harry murmurs, almost to himself. And then, "So have you got a pen, or what?"

Fuck.

"Well, I might've…forgotten one."

Harry rolls his eyes. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a hundred euro. He smacks it down on the table and the plates rattle.

"C'mon, then." He stands up and Louis is struck by how tall he is. It was obvious, even from afar, but their height difference is even more apparent up close.

"Um, can I…?" Louis gestures at the uneaten bread as his stomach makes a pitiful sound. Never before has he felt like such a hapless animal--a puppy that can't yet stand without wobbling into the furniture.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day." Harry looks amused at Louis' expense. "Be my guest."

Louis grabs a white roll, croissant, and a slice of sprouted bread. He dips the roll in velvet honey and licks a molten, golden drip from his thumb.

"Is that all?"

Louis glares at Harry and takes a huge, unflattering bite of honey-drenched roll in response. Harry chuckles softly and nods toward the far side of the harbor.

"Lucky for you, there's a store. We'll get you a pen and your autograph."

They walk past the sparkling windows of jewelry stores, curio shops, and boutique hotels. By the time they reach the opposite end of the port, Louis is wiping sticky fingers on his sandpaper trunks.

"No way." He looks at the store in front of them, sure there must be a mistake. There's no Starbucks on Hydra. No McDonalds, no Walmart, no Forever 21. But here's a Kmart with a hand-painted sign advertising groceries and office supplies. "What kind of parallel universe is this?"

"You know this store?"

"Yeah. Most of them went out of business, but there are still a few in California. Like, there's one across from the Grove." He remembers that Harry probably isn't very familiar with specific landmarks in LA. "The Grove is this mall in Hollywood."

Another eye-roll. "I know what the Grove is. I am a celebrity, after all."

"But like, an _English_ celebrity."

Harry tosses him a disparaging look. "You don't think I'm wealthy enough to have houses in both London and LA?"

Louis' jaw goes slack. He's never heard anyone speak so openly, and in such a pompous, dickish tone, about their personal finances.

"You're paying for the pen," he says, crossing his arms in defiance.

Harry laughs. "Sure. I'll pay for the pen."

Louis grudgingly follows Harry into the Kmart, noticing a set of stairs that lead to a second level. Lottie worried that there would be no stores on the island. Louis can't wait to tell her what he discovered, thanks to Harry.

As Harry hands over too much money for a Sharpie and tells the cashier to keep the change, Louis grabs a bottle of water. He starts to grab for the ten euro his mom gave him last night, zipped into the pocket of his trunks, when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

"Just take the water."

"But--"

"I paid twenty euro for this pen. Take it."

Louis thanks the cashier as they leave the store and she smiles in response. He realizes that Harry's hand is still on his shoulder when they step outside. He realizes that he's made no move to shake it off.

"This way," Harry says, letting his hand fall. He leads them to a small wooden table with two chairs. He puts the poster down and uncaps the Sharpie. "What's your name?"

"Louis."

"Louis," Harry repeats slowly, savoring it as if he's trying out a new food that he's already decided he likes very much. Then he sits down and starts to write.

"Wait, _no_." Louis rushes forward and grabs Harry's hand. Drops it after a second, because the flames in his tummy are starting to spread, licking all the way down to his fingertips.

"What's wrong?" Harry seems to find Louis' panic hilarious. There's barely-suppressed mirth sparkling in his wide green eyes. Louis doesn't understand how someone can look so tremendously innocent and overwhelmingly impish all at once.

"It's for my sister. Lottie. Sign it to Lottie, please."

Harry nods. "So you weren't lying."

"Lying about what?"

Harry crosses something out with a few hasty lines and starts anew. Louis waits impatiently, alternating between crossed arms and letting them hang limply at his sides. Finally, Harry caps the pen and folds the poster into fourths.

"You aren't a fan."

"Oh. Yeah, I wasn't lying about that."

Louis takes the poster.

"And the pen, Louis. I have no use for it."

"You sure?" Louis looks at the locals and tourists bustling around the harbor. "I bet someone else is going to ask for an autograph."

"Doubtful."

"But, I mea--"

Harry holds up a hand and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out an iPhone X, no case, and checks the screen.

"I have to take this--it's my label. It was great meeting you. Do give my best to your sister." His voice is suddenly like a sound bite, rehearsed and robotic. Clipped right out of the pages of some misguided tabloid or spouted at a sterile publicity event. Louis stands uncertainly as Harry takes the call and walks away without a second glance.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later, Lottie begs their mom to take them out to dinner. And though Louis doesn't chime in, he thinks that something other than boxed macaroni sounds totally mouthwatering. After an afternoon of being worn down, their mom agrees. Louis can tell she'd like to be treated to something different, too.

He grabs fifty euro from his backpack--some of the money he saved up from working weekends at Zayn's uncle's nightclub in Anaheim. He changes into his nicest Adidas sweatpants--dark green with mustard stripes down the side--and a white T-shirt. Even the fancy restaurants on the island don't have a superstrict dress code. Most tourists are sunburned and pruned by nightfall, wearing baggy linen sundresses and slacks over crusty bathing suits. Louis is confident he'll look a hundred times better than all of them, even in his casual outfit.

Lottie is the last one to finish getting ready. Her makeup is flawless, eyeliner and gradient eye shadow that looks like the deepening cerulean of the Mediterranean. Her highlighter is pale gold and she's flecked it with blue glitter like freckles.

"Looking fierce, Lots," Louis says, getting up from the couch. "So where are we eating?"

Lottie chooses a restaurant she found during her morning run. It's a long walk, almost forty-five minutes, and indigo bruises spread across the sky as they make their way around the island. After descending to the harbor, they go around a point marked by a series of abandoned windmills. They tower above the footpath; stone sentries watching boats enter and leave the port.

As they pass restaurants lit with strings of gently twinkling bulbs, Louis can't help scanning the faces of each ruddy tourist. It takes him a while to realize that he's looking for Harry amongst them. Harry, who departed so suddenly this morning. Harry, who might be leaving for another island or the mainland any day now.

They reach a quiet stretch of path, raised high above the sea on ragged cliffs. There are less people here--most visitors seem to keep to the harbor where the ferries come and go. Lottie stops in front of an unassuming building that looks almost like a private home.

"Here we are," she announces. "We can sit at any of these tables."

They choose one to the right of the path, overlooking a tangle of grapevines and, beyond that, the dark ocean. Louis squints at it, half-expecting to see a pale speck floating just beyond the waves. He jumps when someone sets a menu in front of him. He'd been so focused on the water.

The man welcomes them and tells them that this is his restaurant. It's clearly a family affair. He and his wife do all the cooking, while their son acts as a server and occasionally helps out behind the counter. Lottie and Louis order Cokes, but change their minds when their mom reminds them that they're no longer in America. Louis is of a legal drinking age in Europe, and even though Lottie is under eighteen, there's no problem with her drinking a glass of wine during dinner.

They spend a few minutes looking over the menu. When the man's son returns with their drinks, Louis and his mom order the fresh-caught fish with vegetables. Lottie orders pesto pasta with cherry tomatoes and Cretan cheese. They play 20 Questions while they wait--something they used to do when their dad was still around. It was never fun with him, though. He took the game too seriously, lashing out when their mom tried to bend the rules for Lottie. And whenever it was his turn to choose a person, place, or thing for everyone to guess, he'd pick some obscure general from the Civil War. He got pissed when no one could figure it out, despite the fact that he was the only one with a PhD in American History.

When Lottie gets her turn, she giggles. "Person."

"Okay." Louis steeples his fingers and raises an eyebrow pensively. "Is this person a woman?"

Lottie shakes her head. Someone moves to sit at the table behind Louis and he scrapes his chair in without glancing over his shoulder. Surely they have enough room to sit now that his tummy is pressed against their table.

"A man, then?"

Lottie nods and their mom makes a few wild guesses. Leonardo DiCaprio, Miles Teller, the owner of that trendy little coffee shop Lottie used to hang out in after school.

"Mom," Louis laughs, cutting her off. "We need to narrow it down first. You'll never guess right if you just throw things out."

Mom reaches across the table to ruffle his hair a little. "Cheeky."

"Down to business," he says in mock seriousness. "Is this man famous?"

Lottie nods. "Very."

"Is he…older than thirty?"

"No."

"Younger than twenty?"

"No."

"Okay. So we're looking at a famous guy in his twenties. Oh god, he's not one of those YouTubers, is he?"

"No." Lottie lifts her head haughtily. "And 'those YouTubers' happen to be some of my best friends. They're hella funny and you know it."

"Mark Ruffalo," their mom says.

"Mooom," Louis groans, "Mark Ruffalo is not in his twenties."

"Oh. Right. Are any of those _Stranger Things_ kids twenty?"

"I think Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan are. But no, Eleven and the others are like, way young." Louis pauses for a moment, then asks, "Is this person an actor?"

"They've been known to act."

Louis doesn't like Lottie's evasive response. "But they're more known for other things?"

"Yeah."

"Are they a singer?"

"Warmer."

"Are you a fan of theirs?"

"Totally."

"Am _I_ a fan of theirs?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Excuse me." The voice from over Louis' shoulder makes every muscle in his body tighten. The sensation is almost painful, like sinking into yoga pose wrong and getting stuck that way. But he can't help the extreme reaction--he knows that voice. Harry's cocky, languid cadence is unmistakable.

Louis huffs as Lottie claps her hands together and looks like she could keel over from excitement.

"I don't mean to eavesdrop on this wonderful game, but would it be possible for me to guess?"

"Yes!" Lottie practically screams. Louis still hasn't turned to acknowledge Harry's presence.

"Is this famous person in his twenties, who you like and your brother does not like, on this island right now?"

Lottie nods in such an aggressive show of agreement, Louis is afraid her head is about to fall right off her neck. He wants to put his hands on her shoulders and tell her to take a deep, calming breath. And then hold it for five seconds before exhaling.

"Is it me?"

"Oh my god, yes. Harry fucking Styles, I'm literally your biggest fan. I'm sorry--I don't wanna freak you out--but I love you. Your music is everything. Your music is my life."

Louis can't stand it. He turns, a little too forcefully, and bashes his ribs on the table. Trying not to wince, he looks Harry in the eye.

"She's being ironic," he says quickly. "Your music is _not_ her life."

"What the hell, Louis?" Lottie smacks his shoulder. "It is too my life. That's why he got your autograph for me the other day--thank you for that, by the way. The song you quoted is my absolute favorite."

"He's a good brother." Harry smirks at Louis before giving Lottie a genuine-looking smile.

Louis grumbles and turns away. At least he's not facing the arrogant bastard. Once their food comes, Lottie will be distracted and Louis will be able to pretend Harry Styles isn't sitting about two feet from their table.

"This is Niall," Harry says. To Louis horror, both Lottie and their mom beam at the pair over Louis' shoulder. "My manager extraordinaire, who also happens to be my best mate."

"Best mates is debatable," Niall says in a punchy Irish accent. "When Harry asked who I'd like to be stranded on an island with, I said Kate Bosworth. But instead I'm waking up to his ugly face."

Everyone but Louis laughs. Then, out of nowhere, "Would you two like to join us?"

Louis stares at his mom, shocked by this sudden decision. Can't she see the kind of dreadful affect this coked-out celebrity has on Lottie?

"That'd be really nice," he rushes, "If there were enough room. But damn, we only have the one extra chair. Next time."

"We can get another chair." Lottie jumps up and drags one over from a nearby table. "Problem solved!"

Louis glares at the table. He should be graceful in defeat, but he's not about to play the good sport and clap these two men chummily on the back. Niall must be just as bad, if he agrees to spend so much time with Harry. Or maybe the pay is simply too generous to pass up.

Harry and Niall take the empty seats. Niall is at the end of the table, between Louis and Lottie, while Harry is seated to Louis' left. Harry is a little too close for Louis' liking--so close their elbows might accidentally touch when he picks the bones from his fish. He has to ensure their elbows absolutely do not touch.

Louis braces himself for the Harry-and-Niall show. He imagines them talking the entire time, doting these normal, non-famous people with a glimpse into the lives of the elite. But instead, Harry asks Lottie question after question about her YouTube channel. He compliments her oceanic makeup in a way that knots Louis' insides. Not because the comment seems perverted or creepy, but because he wants to be the object of Harry's compliments.

"Louis, what did that napkin ever do to you?"

Louis glances at Harry, then down at his lap, where his paper napkin is shredded into thin ribbons. He didn't realize he'd been tearing at it until now.

Thankfully, the man's son appears with their meal, sparing Louis the embarrassment of inventing some flimsy excuse for his strange behavior. Niall and Harry also ordered the fish, and Louis can't believe how delicious it looks. The first bite is heaven--buttery and flaky, it seems to melt the instant in touches his tongue. He moans, the sound far too sensual for a table of close family and total strangers.

"I--um, sorry about that," he says, blushing furiously. "It's really good."

Niall laughs and tells him not to worry. Lottie says he's so weird and their mom takes a sip of wine. Harry says nothing, so Louis glances tentatively in his direction and immediately wishes he hadn't.

Harry is looking at Louis with an icy expression. Louis presses a hand nervously against his tummy, wondering foolishly if Harry can feel the fire there and is trying to freeze it into oblivion. He wants to look away, but it's like that night on the beach. He's rendered immobile by the intensity of Harry's gaze. It feels something like staring at the sun--Louis has the vague sense that fixing his eyes on Harry for too long is unadvisable. Unadvisable but, ultimately, unavoidable.

\--

  
Mom insisted on ice cream after dinner. Ice cream, as if they were a bunch of kids. Louis isn't exactly sure how old Harry and Niall are, but they're definitely too old for a parent to be buying them ice cream cones.

They sat on a low wall facing the port and ate in silence that was occasionally interrupted by a comment about the number of sailboats moored in the harbor or how incredible the ice cream tasted. Louis sat as far from Harry as possible, his shoulder bumping Lottie's as they offered each other a taste from the other's cone.

Harry seemed particularly interested in the fact that Louis and his family was now living on Hydra.

"Unbelievable," he said, nudging Niall. "Innit? Leaving one of the busiest cities in the world for a place without cars. That's fuckin--I mean, that's totally amazing."

Louis couldn't believe Harry Styles was censoring himself because there was a mother and a child present. If Louis didn't know better, it might've seemed sweet.

"Yeah, amazing," Niall agreed. "I wish we could stay a bit longer. We're only here for--"

"Two more weeks."

Niall flashed a confused look at Harry.

"Two…?"

"Two more weeks," Harry repeated, turning away from Niall to meet Louis' eyes. "This island is beautiful. We're not ready to leave quite yet."

Now, Louis runs into Lottie's room the second he hears the bathroom door close. The poster that Harry autographed is hanging above the bed, pink hearts matching her sheets almost perfectly.

Louis stands on the bed and squints at Harry's thick scrawl. But he's not paying attention to the note addressed to Lottie. He's trying to decipher what's buried beneath the scribbles Harry drew when he realized the poster didn't belong to Louis.

He can make out his name, but after that it's hard to tell what Harry began to write.

"Shit," he says, hitting the wall in frustration. It's hopeless.

"What. The Hell."

Louis whirls. Lottie is standing in the doorway, toothbrush hanging from her mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Louis leans against the wall, trying to play it casual. Again, hopeless.

"Um, get out? Now?"

"Right, okay." Louis climbs off the bed and walks past her. But before he leaves the room, he has to ask, "Hey, Lots, how old is Harry?"

"Twenty-four."

"Gotcha. Cool." Harry is a whole six years older than him.

"And Louis?"

Louis turns in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Why do you care?"

Louis shrugs. "I don't."

He can tell that she doesn't believe him. How could she, when he doesn't even believe himself.

\--

They have a Wi-Fi modem installed the next morning and Louis immediately connects to the internet on his laptop. He googles 'Harry Styles' on his bed with the door closed, too afraid of Lottie spying over his shoulder to sit in the living room.

He scrolls through a bland Wikipedia page and a few articles about Harry's beautifully bizarre fashion sense. Most people think he dresses like a rock god, though a contentious bunch of trolls seem bent on labeling him as unattractive.

"Fuck you too, Callie B from North Dakota," Louis mutters, scrolling past her cruel comment about Harry being too fat to wear tight pants. Seriously, does Callie B even know the definition of fat?

There are plenty of articles about Harry's recreational drug use. He was spotted snorting lines at a private party in SoHo. Someone took a picture of him with their phone, tampon applicator in hand as he stoops to inhale the cocaine. And Louis thinks it's kind of funny that Harry was using a plastic tampon applicator instead of a rolled-up dollar bill. Or, considering the extent of Harry's wealth, a hundred dollar bill.

Louis looks for worse stories, but the cocaine use seems to be what made a portion of the public turn against the beloved pop star. He tabs over to Google Images and scans through photos of Harry. Onstage, captured with shaky camera phones, professional shots from the red carpet, and a handful of memes. He feels almost like an addict, clicking through the pictures. After each of them, he thinks to himself: _Just one more_. Several hours pass this way.

Louis helps his mom get the TV set up in the afternoon, along with a clunky DVD player she had shipped from Athens. Neither of them are tech savvy, so it's hard work. To celebrate, they watch movies while eating dinner. It's elbow macaroni again, but Lottie decides to make brownies for dessert and Louis helps her. Mostly by licking the batter from the bowl, but still.

Lottie is in a better mood now that the house has working Wi-Fi. She can finally Snapchat her friends back home and post pictures of the island on Instagram for her fans.

"Nice throwback," he says, double-tapping the picture of Lottie's blue makeup from last night.

"No one needs to know it's a throwback," she sniffs. "I guess that's the best thing about living in the middle of nowhere. When people don't see you IRL, you can make stuff up on online."

"That sounds…unhealthy. Social media is already so fake."

"Fake is fun."

Louis isn't so sure she's right, but decides to let it drop. He gets up from the couch and grabs a jacket from one of the nails their mom pounded into the wall to use as hooks for bags and coats. "It looks like Whoville after the Grinch steals all the pretty decorations," was Lottie's take on it.

"I'm going for a walk," he announces, though Lottie is focused on her phone and their mom is playing Sudoku and half-watching _Sleepless in Seattle_. Neither of them would notice if he left without a word.

"Going to stalk Harry?"

"W-what?" Louis blusters. Getting his arms into his jacket sleeves is suddenly very difficult.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Relax. I'm joking."

"I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Yeah. Okay. Enjoy that 'fresh air'." Lottie leans back into the couch cushions and pouts at her phone for a Snapchat.

"Whatever." Louis closes the front door with a little more force than necessary. Sometimes his sister can be a real pain. She has no right implying Louis would want to leave the house in hopes of running into Harry. That would be pathetic.

It's already dark as he makes his way down to the harbor. The closer he gets to the water, the more crowded the footpaths. A big dog bounds up to him and he crouches down to scratch it behind the ears. Louis thinks about how if this dog could speak, it would speak Greek instead of English. He might start to learn Greek at the U of Chicago. Liberal Arts majors are required to take a year of a foreign language, and it would be a wonderful surprise if he returned next summer able to interact with locals in their own tongue. He feels like an asshole, living on Hydra and only knowing how to say a few basic phrases in Greek. "Thank you" and "Where's the bathroom?" can only get you so far in life. He's probably pronouncing everything wrong too.

Someone calls the dog and it runs away. Louis stands and continues down to the port. All the restaurants have tables spilling outside and the sound of pleasant banter warms the night. He wishes he'd brought a few euro for ice cream--the mint chip cone last night was the best he'd tasted in his life. Nothing like the cheap, toothpaste-tasting crap his dad used to buy. His dad liked rocky road and always bought the most expensive kind in the grocery aisle. But since he didn't like mint chip or vanilla bean--Lottie's favorite--he bought whatever was on sale. And if they didn't manage to eat the icy, off-brand pints fast enough, he would call them ungrateful.

After walking from one side of the port to the other, Louis is struck by how profoundly lonely he is. Even when he's sitting right next to his mom and sister, he doesn't feel like he can tell them anything. He can't burden them with any of his anxieties, because then he wouldn't be taking care of them the way he needs to.

Liam and Zayn used to be there for him. And now that there's Wi-Fi in the house, Louis has sent them a few messages. They both downloaded WhatsApp even though it's not nearly as common in California as it is in Europe. But it's not enough. It's not the same as face-to-face conversations, late night drives to smoke beneath the Malibu pier, scoring fake Indianan IDs and hitting up 21-and-over concerts at the Troubadour. Those are things that will never happen again. When they meet up in the future, things will be different. Liam will have met tons of new people working for Supreme and Zayn will click with a new group of friends in the dorms at NYU.

The finality of it hits Louis harder than the day they graduated. Then, they still had Six Flags to look forward to. More midnight adventures and a whole week of infinities before Louis had to board a plane bound for Europe. Now, there's nothing to look forward to. He's alone in an unfamiliar place and when he arrives in Chicago in August, it'll be time to start over. Again.

He sits on a wall built into the top of a cliff, next to the hulking metal shell of a fake cannon. His legs dangle over the sea--an unbroken, ever-moving swath of velvet. And it feels appropriate to watch the earth swirl beneath him. He'll likely never manage to get his footing when everything around him seems to change so quickly and ceaselessly. They say change is constant, and it's true. But that consistency doesn't make it reliable. It doesn't allow Louis to relax and enjoy the present. No matter how beautiful the present might be.

He tips his head back to look at the moon. It's nearly full and bright white. Its light licks a stripe across the surface of the Mediterranean, silvering the soft ripples that chase each other to shore.

Footsteps approach from the right. Louis turns toward the sound, heart hard in his throat as he waits for the figure to get closer. He realizes it's two people--a couple holding hands and whispering back and forth.

Louis runs a hand through his hair. He hadn't been hoping it was Harry--no way. He doesn't care if he sees Harry again during these next to weeks. In fact, it would be preferable if their paths didn't cross at all.

"Get. It. Together," he mutters through gritted teeth.

But as he wanders back through town, he can't help the flutter of disappointment at each unfamiliar face. Seeing Harry is unbearable. Not seeing Harry is worse.


	4. Chapter 4

Lottie begs Louis to come to the beach with her the following afternoon.

"I don't wanna face all those wrinkly, naked Greek men on my own," she says, touching up her waterproof makeup in front of the mirror. Louis leans against the doorway with his arms crossed as she screws the cap onto her mascara.

"None of the beaches are for nudists." Then he remembers the splash of naked Harry careening heedlessly into the Mediterranean and adds, "I think."

"Well, we're in Europe now. They were all into 'free the nipple' before it was cool."

"'Free the nipple' hipsters."

Lottie grabs a beach towel from the cabinet beneath the sink. "So you'll come with?"

"Ugh, fine." Louis sighs dramatically. "I'll go put my trunks on."

"Meet you by the front door."

"You owe me."

Lottie flips him off as she pushes past him. "You owe me when you wake up tomorrow with a sick tan."

Louis grumbles but goes to his room and changes into his swimsuit. He grabs his aviators, a paperback he picked up at Heathrow, and a baseball hat. He pulls it on, checks the bathroom mirror, and decides a Dodgers hat makes him look too much like a tourist. Besides, he doesn't give a shit about sports. He only bought it because Liam and Zayn surprised him with a beach trip for his birthday last year and he didn't want his face to get fried by the sun. The Dodgers hat was the least awful one on the rack--way better than anything with rhinestones and studs around the bill.

He tosses the hat onto the counter and throws a beach towel over his shoulder. Between the brightly pattered towel and his flip-flops, there's no getting around the fact that he looks like an American on their summer vacation. But that's just as well. It's not like he'll manage to become a local in the couple months he has on the island.

They walk past the beach where Louis spotted Harry that first night. Lottie bemoans the walk, complaining that she would've worn Shape-ups if she knew Louis was planning on leading her on a hike around the whole freaking island.

"Just around this corner," he says, pushing ahead. "There's going to be a better beach over here--I can feel it."

As they gain elevation, the chances of finding a beach start to dwindle. Louis knows he's full of shit, but he can't help it. Stupid as it seems, there's something sacred about Harry's beach. That's even how he's started thinking of it: Harry's beach. He doesn't want to take anyone else there--not even Lottie. He's worried it might break the spell cast during their first night on the island. That revisiting the beach without Harry might erode the magic into something less precious. Like stones wave-worn into fine grains of sand, it'll start slipping through his fingers and vanish altogether.

"You su--oh hey, that's awesome."

"What?" Louis turns to see Lottie looking out toward the ocean. He follows her line of sight and sees a tiny white building sprouting up from a rocky outcropping. It's not too far from the cliffs of Hydra--a fifteen or twenty minute swim at most. A couple small dinghies are moored alongside it.

"What do you think it is?"

Louis shrugs. "A church, maybe? I can't imagine anyone living out there, but it could be a house."

"Ohmygod, it's probably a house! If you lived there, you could literally say you owned an island. No one would ever have to know your island was the length and width of a medium-sized bedroom."

Louis laughs. "I wonder if Amazon delivers there."

"I would have to use the same mascara for like, decades. It would end up growing some weird bacteria."

"Gross." Louis wrinkles his nose. "Is that actually a thing that can happen?"

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Yes, Louis. It's actually a thing that can happen."

They continue on for another half hour before finding an empty beach. Louis lays his towel out across the sand and flops onto his tummy. He starts reading as Lottie takes her dress off and runs into the water in her bikini.

"Holy shit," she yells, "The ocean feels sooo warm! It's like a bath."

"Welcome to not-California," Louis calls back. For all its splendor, the Pacific can be quite chilly.

He reads a few chapters; barely aware that time is passing. He gets lost in the story. The sun feels amazing through the soft cotton of his T-shirt and he's glad he remembered to slather some sunscreen onto the backs of his arms and legs. The ebb and flow of the whitewater lulls him into something like sleep. He's not even reading anymore. He's just lying with his face to the sea, mind blissfully blank. It takes him a few moments to register the fact that Lottie is now out of the water, hair wrapped in her towel. She's saying something, but not to him.

"I think he's alive," she says, nudging Louis' motionless calf with her toe.

"I think so too, but it's hard to tell."

Louis drops his paperback at the sound of Harry's voice. It cracks open on the ground, sand cascading over the pages and into the spine. That'll bother Louis so, sooo much the next time he reads it. Sand is like glitter. It's impossible to get rid of.

As Louis gets to his feet, he tries not to think about how he wishes Harry was like sand and glitter.

"Hey." Louis tries to shove his hands in his pockets, realizing a moment too late that his trunks don't have pockets like regular jeans. "What's up?"

Harry is dressed more casually than Louis has ever seen him. He's wearing running shorts and a hoodie. The sleeves are cut off, exposing a mess of tattoos on his left arm. Louis wants to stay up all night and ask him about each and every one.

"You're not immediately bothered by my presence." Harry's tone of mock surprise puts Louis on edge. "This is new."

Never mind that Louis was trying out a new tactic: Pretending to feel indifferent toward Harry showing up. He thought it might be better than the constant show of annoyance. It might fool everyone into thinking Louis is definitely not foolish. That he doesn't care about Harry in any capacity, good or bad.

Clearly, he was too optimistic. And his acting skills have never been good. When he, Zayn, and Liam auditioned to be extras in a Lady Gaga music video, Louis was the only one who got turned away. It wasn't even for a speaking part.

Perhaps he's just the least attractive of his friends.

"Dunno what you're talking about." Louis puts his hands on his hips. Then he thinks this seems too confrontational, so he lowers them to his sides. The way he keeps moving his arms probably makes him seem totally indecisive, which is embarrassing. Harry seems like the most decisive person in the world. Like, if Louis were to ask where they were going for dinner, Harry would instantly name a place and what dish both of them should order. And what wine would pair nicely.

Now Louis is thinking about what it would be like to have dinner with Harry. Not with other people around. Just him and Harry, eating incredible food and moaning across the table at one another.

Jesus, he can't stand here imagining what it would be like to Harry moan. It's not the time nor place. Besides, Harry clearly didn't enjoy hearing Louis moan the other night. It seemed to shut him down completely.

"What are your plans today, Harry?" Lottie giggles. Louis bets she still can't believe she's talking to the man who has papered her walls since elementary school.

"Nothing much. Niall has found some woman to fuck--erm, sorry." Harry looks ashamed for letting the curse slip in front of Lottie. "Niall is spending time with a woman from New York, so I'm…making myself scarce."

"Wanna make yourself scarce at our house?"

" _Lottie_." Louis can't believe his little sister. Inviting a wealthy pop star to judge their new house is a terrible idea.

"I'd love to," Harry says. His tone is oddly sincere. "If it's okay with Louis, of course."

Louis rolls his eyes. "As if you care about getting my permission."

"I do care."

Louis splutters for a few seconds. He looks away from the genuine-looking concern burning in Harry's eyes, knowing it's an act. No one gets to be as successful as Harry without learning how to manipulate people.

"Whatever." He snatches up his towel and book. "But you can't touch any of my things. And you can't come in my room."

"There's the Louis I know." Harry grins and holds a hand out to Lottie. "Can I carry your bag?"

While she thanks him profusely but declines on the basis of being an empowered woman, Louis falls into step behind them. How is it that he feels so young, trailing them like the petulant little kid who was told off for throwing too many tantrums?

If there's one benefit to walking behind them, it's getting to drool over Harry's broad shoulders. When Harry makes a comment about how warm it's getting and strips off his hoodie, Louis pretends it's all for his benefit. He so badly wants to reach out and press his hands against the edges of Harry's shoulder blades, feel the way they move as he walks.

"What do you think, Louis?"

God, he loves the way his name sounds between Harry's lips. Like the first time he said it, Harry lingers on each syllable of Louis' name as if it's a meal he'd like to delight in for just a moment longer than necessary.

"Dumbass, we're talking to you," Lottie's voice cuts through Louis' delirium.

"Oh, I, uh…can you repeat the question?"

Louis can feel himself blushing as Harry tosses a bemused glance over his shoulder. He quickly tries to rearrange his humiliated expression into a defiant glare.

"We're talking about llamas," Harry says. "An average llama costs about 1,000, same as the iPhone X. Which would you rather buy?"

"Where do I live?"

Harry turns, walking backwards so he can face Louis. "I don't see why that's relevant."

"Well, I'll answer differently depending on where I live in this scenario."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Okay. In that case, you live in…Sweden."

"Llama."

"Why?"

Louis almost laughs at the look of legitimate curiosity that comes over Harry's face.

"Because I could shear it and make sweaters out of the fiber."

Now it's Lottie's turn to look over her shoulder. "So in this scenario, you're a _good_ knitter?"

"I can kind of knit."

"Really?" Harry presses his lips together like he's trying to suppress a grin.

"Our grandma taught him ages ago," Lottie explains when Louis doesn't immediately jump in to explain. "But our dad was a total dick and made Louis stop because--"

"It took up too much time," Louis rushes, flashing Lottie a warning look. How dare she divulge anything about their dad to this stranger? "He didn't want it getting in the way of my homework."

Harry looks between Lottie and Louis; clearly aware he's not getting the whole story. Louis is almost certain Harry is going to press them for the truth. But to his surprise, Harry turns around and asks Lottie why her sandals are fuzzy like slippers. She acts shocked that Harry wasn't already aware of the trend and tries to show him a fashion account she follows on Instagram.

"Shit, we don't have service. I forgot."

"How do you use your phones?" Harry asks.

"We have Wi-Fi at home."

Harry offers his phone and she pulls up Instagram to show him aesthetic pictures of fuzzy sandals. He makes a few jokes about them and it's not long before she's in tears. Louis glowers. Harry's sense of humor isn't funny. Not even a little bit.

"I can't believe I'm on Harry Styles' Instagram right now. Sorry, I'm trying so hard not to have a creepy fan moment, but like. Wow. I've followed this account for years."

"What's it like to get a glimpse behind the curtain?" Based on the casual way Harry talks about his account, Louis can tell he's mostly indifferent about social media.

"I mean, it's similar to mine. The only difference is about twenty million followers."

Harry laughs. "Don't let the numbers fool you. At least half of those twenty million are bots." He tells Lottie to search for her account and takes his phone back. "Nearly one and a half million. Impressive."

Lottie suddenly lets out an inhuman sound and Louis cranes his neck. What did Harry just do?

"Did you really…?" Lottie looks like she's about to lose her mind. "But you don't follow anyone besides models and like, other superfamous people."

Harry shrugs. "My label follows people from my profile. Yours is one of the first accounts they haven't followed for me."

Lottie continues to freak out the rest of the way to their house. Louis wants to jam his fingers in his ears and hum to drown it out, because c'mon. Following someone is totally not a big deal. Lottie is acting like Harry handed her a million dollars with the disclaimer: "It's tax free."

"Mo-om!" Lottie hangs her towel from one of the nails by the front door and wanders toward the kitchen. "Guess who's here?"

Louis hangs his towel on a nail too, just because he wants to cover as many of them as possible. He doesn't want Harry to see the DIY way their house is patched together, the corners they've cut trying to turn this place into a home.

While Lottie talks to their mom in the kitchen, Louis stands awkwardly and watches Harry take in their living room.

"It doesn't look great yet, but that's because we moved in so recently. Our house back in LA was much nicer--not bigger, but definitely cleaner. We had a coat rack by the door and everything. I bet we'll get a coat rack again, but for now we're just using these nails. Actually, our mom probably already ordered a coat rack online. It might show up at any--"

"Louis, not to be rude, but I honestly don't give a shit about coat racks."

Louis crosses his arms self-consciously. Harry is still very much naked from the waist up, and now that he's facing him, Louis can see the torso tattoos up close. He's trying not to stare. He's trying not to stare. He's trying not to stare.

He's staring. Harry's stomach is so perfect, flat with just the gentlest suggestion of muscles. Louis can't help the overwhelming adoration he feels toward it, toward the tattoos across Harry's hips that invite Louis' gaze lower….

"So," he says, looking away with some difficulty, "Like I said before, my room is off-limits."

"Noted." Harry is grinning openly and Louis is so, sooo annoyed.

"And you should probably let yourself out soon, because we're very busy around here."

"I can see that."

Lottie appears and asks Harry if he wants some fresh-squeezed lemonade. They disappear into the kitchen and Louis goes to the bathroom to take a refreshing shower. Afterward, he wraps a towel around his waist and walks across the hall to his room. He could've sworn he left it open when they left for the beach, but now it's closed. And locked. He tries the knob a few times and raises his fist to knock.

" _Louis_."

He turns at Lottie's fierce whisper.

"What?"

"Don't knock on the door."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he's asleep."

" _Who's_ asleep?"

"You know bloody well who."

Louis' jaw drops. "'Bloody well'? So, what, a British icon follows you on Instagram and you're suddenly an honorary resident of the U.K.?"

"Shut up."

Louis puts his hands on his hips. "Why is Harry in my room?"

"Because he was tired. I told him he could take a nap in your bed." Lottie shrugs like it's the most logical thing in the world.

"Why not your room? Why not the couch? Why not _his own hotel room_?"

"God, stop being so grouchy. You can wear some of my sweatpants until he wakes up."

Louis goes to her room, stomping the whole way. When she offers him a pair of pastel yellow, velour sweatpants, he nearly throws them at her.

"At least they don't say something across the ass," he remarks. Then, quickly, he turns them around to make sure. The ass is, thankfully, devoid of bedazzling.

"Don't judge my clothes."

Louis doesn't say anything. He takes them to the bathroom, dries off, and pulls them on. They fit a bit snugly, especially over his ass, but at least no one's around to see. He can't imagine the reactions Liam and Zayn would have if they saw him bearing his treasure trail in a pair of Lottie's sweatpants. Her closet is notoriously obnoxious. And Louis usually thinks it's awesome that she expresses her uniqueness with such unabashed confidence, but not now. Not when he's subject to said uniqueness.

He helps his mom unpack the boxes that arrived on a boat earlier this morning. They couldn't take everything with them on the plane, so his mom had several items shipped from LA. He unwraps newspaper from a ceramic bowl he made during his junior year of high school and sighs dramatically.

"Mom, why did you feel the need to save this?" He holds it up so she can see.

"Because you made it, and it's beautiful."

Louis gives her a skeptical look. "It's a lot of things. Lumpy, being one. It's also deformed. But it's not beautiful."

"Are you joking? That thing belongs in the Louvre. It's a sculpture."

Louis nearly drops the bowl as Harry comes shuffling down the hall, still shamelessly shirtless. He messes a hand through his bed-ruffled hair and Louis wants nothing more than to bury his face in it and just breathe.

"See?" Louis tries to look unfazed by Harry's sudden appearance. He looks toward his mom. "Harry thinks it's nice, so it _must_ be shit."

Harry laughs as Louis' mom tells him off for using that kind of language in her house. But she's mostly kidding--she stopped caring if he cussed after graduation, as long as Lottie isn't within earshot.

Louis gets up from the table, where he was sitting to unpack the boxes, and puts the bowl away in the cabinet next to the stove. When he turns back around, the expression on Harry's face stops him cold. He looks toward his mom, but she's still busy with the packages and completely unaware of Harry, looking at Louis. Louis, looking at Harry.

"These a-aren't mine," he stammers, stepping behind the table so Harry can't judge Louis' body more than he already has.

"What isn't yours?" Harry's voice is calm and steady. The exact opposite of Louis.

"These sweats. I had to borrow Lottie's because you stole my room."

"Oh, Lou, he didn't steal anything. We offered because he needed to lie down."

Louis has never been so annoyed with his mom. And why is Harry pretending like he has no idea what Louis is talking about? It's obvious Harry thinks Louis is disgusting for wearing such tight, unflattering sweatpants. It doesn't help that Harry looks flawless without a shirt and Louis…well, Louis has never enjoyed exercise. He's certainly not fat, but his body sometimes looks too soft in places. Sometimes his tummy and ass remind him of a woman's body, and he hates it. One of his boyfriends back in LA told him he might consider working out at Equinox. Louis was so insecure about it; he spent a ridiculous amount of money on a yearlong membership at the exclusive gym and then felt too intimidated to go. It took so many weekends working for Zayn's uncle to pay it off.

"Harry, can I get your opinion on these selfies?" Lottie leans out from her doorway and waves Harry to her room. "I can't decide if I look weird when I wear this new lipstick I bought during our layover in Heathrow."

Louis feels a pang of jealousy as he hears Harry offer his opinion on the photos. He can't make out the exact words, but Lottie obviously cares about what Harry thinks. She never cares about Louis' point of view. Never asks him to give his thoughts on a selfie before she posts it.

Suddenly, he hears Harry's phone ring. He knows it's Harry's phone because Lottie's is programmed to play Beyoncé whenever she receives a call.

Harry reappears, phone in hand.

"I have to take this--it's my label. But thank you so much for the hospitality. I'm sure I'll see you all again soon."

Before Louis can register the change in Harry's tone and the familiarity of his words, the front door slams shut.

"Well, that was a bit strange," his mom remarks, looking in the direction of Harry's quick departure.

Louis makes a vague sound of agreement. Strange doesn't even begin to cover it.

\--

If Louis is absolutely certain of one thing, it's that he will not smell the hoodie Harry left behind in his room. No way in hell will he pick it up off the ground and grip it tight in his hands, imagining Harry still wearing it. No way in hell will he picture himself dragging Harry toward him like this, fisting the front of his sweatshirt with the stupid cutoff sleeves and begging for a kiss. And another. No way in hell will he hug it to his chest and put on and stuff his hands in the oversize kangaroo pocket. No way in hell.

He rips Harry's sweatshirt off when someone knocks on his bedroom door. He throws it across the room like it's on fire and tries to sound nonchalant when he says, "Come in."

Lottie cracks the door halfway. "Mom was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie. Otherwise she's watching this sad documentary about dogs."

"Um, I would…I have to run an errand, though."

"What errand?" Lottie pushes the door wide open and crosses her arms.

"Don't be so nosy."

"I can't help being nosy when you act so weird."

"I'm not acting weird."

"No? Explain why you're shirtless and still wearing my pants."

Louis mirrors his sister, crossing his arms and lifting his chin a little. "These pants are extremely comfortable."

"So does Harry know you're about to visit him? Or like, is it going to be a surprise when you show up at his hotel?"

"The errand has nothing to do with Harry." God, Lottie is such a pain in his ass. She can always tell when he's lying.

"Okay, suuure." She pulls her phone out of her back pocket. "I got almost a hundred thousand new followers, by the way. Just in the past few hours."

"Why? Did that duck-face selfie you posted go viral or something?"

Lottie gives him a look like he insulted her in some way. "First of all, that wasn't a _duck-face_ selfie. It was a classy, subtle pout. Harry said so himself."

"Oh, well. Whatever Harry says _has_ to be right."

"Why are you always so rude to him?"

Louis laughs mirthlessly. "Don't even get me started. You and mom might be enchanted by his niceness, but I see right through it. Fake--all of it's totally fake."

"It's not fake. He's helping me get more popular. All of my new followers are because he followed me."

"Because that's all that matters in life: Stupid social media accounts."

He waits for Lottie to come back with another blow. Something else about how he's a complete asshat whenever Harry shows up. But she just flips him off and says, "This is why I never ask for your opinion about anything. You think everything I do is dumb."

Louis can't believe this. He walks to his door as she storms down the hall, gripping the handle and sticking his head out after her.

"You're full of it," he says. "So fucking full of it. All I do is support you, but it doesn't matter. Harry shows up and you worship the ground he walks on."

"I hate you."

"Yeah, well. Ditto."

They slam their doors at the same time and Louis feels sick. He sinks to the ground and leans his head back against the wall. There's no excuse for him blowing up at Lottie like that. He needs to be better--she deserves better after all the shit that happened when their dad was around. She needs a real role model--not some coke-snorting celebrity on the come-up after their fall from grace. Louis googled Harry last night and found out he's got a whole revival tour planned in the fall. A bunch of dates across North and South America, along with rumors of a new album.

Lottie might think she's found a new friend in Harry, but he's only going to disappoint her in the long run. And when that happens, Louis needs to be there to pick up the pieces.

He waits almost an hour before knocking on Lottie's door. When she doesn't respond, he says, "Lots, I'm sorry. That was shitty and I…I'm just sorry, okay? Of course your social media accounts aren't stupid. Millions of people love you and you've got tons of sponsors." He rests his forehead against her door. "You shouldn't listen to me when I say messed up stuff like that. I'm just a guy with a few hundred followers. I don't know anything."

She doesn't respond and he doesn't push her to forgive him right away. He changes into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt before grabbing Harry's sweatshirt off the ground. Screw his earlier plan of scouring the harbor for Harry and hoping for a few precious minutes of banter. He's going to tell Harry to back off before he can promise Lottie things he'll never deliver on.

Louis tells his mom that he's going out and that she shouldn't wait up. He jams his feet into Nikes and puts his wallet and phone into his back pockets.

Once he gets to the port, he begins to doubt himself. It's a Friday night and the paths are packed with tourists. Even if Harry is amongst them, the chances of Louis finding him are slim. And that's _if_ he's spending the evening out in public. He might be hiding out in his hotel room, waiting for Monday's thinner crowds.

Against all odds, Louis spots Niall sitting at one of the restaurants across from the donkey rentals. He's sitting with a slender brunette woman in a floral sundress. He waves when he sees Louis approach.

"Mate, this is my friend Addison. Addie, this is Louis Tomlinson. A Hydra resident."

"Really?" Addison looks only politely interested. "You must love it here."

"I've only lived here for about a week, but yeah. It's great." Louis musters a smile. "I hate to interrupt your dinner…."

"Fret not," Niall says, "We haven't even ordered yet. Addie thinks everything looks good here. She said she needs some time to make a decision, or else she'll order one of everything on the damn menu."

"I think I might order everything regardless of how much time I take to decide."

Louis shifts his weight uncomfortably as Niall assures her she can order whatever she likes, because she's just so cute and amazing and barf. Finally, Louis feels the need to interrupt.

"So, Niall…?"

"Sorry, Tommo. What's up?" Niall pulls away from kissing Addison's neck, but only a little. Like he might swoop back in at any moment, without warning.

"I have something of Harry's. Is he at your hotel?"

Niall winces a little and sits back in his chair. He gestures for Louis to lean in and waits until Louis is practically crouched next to their table before whispering, "Between you and me, something happened that put Harry in a shit mood. He left."

"He _left_?" Louis hates the whirlpool that opens up in his stomach, sucking everything away and emptying him of all feeling. Harry can't be gone. He _can't_. Louis was promised two weeks.

"No, no, not like that," Niall quickly assures him. "He just went to Athens for the night. Clubbing, getting high. I told him not to, but it was like talking to a wall. He took off about an hour ago."

"Where's he going? Do you know the name of the club?"

Niall shakes his head regretfully. "Sorry, mate. I know the neighborhood, but that's it."

"What's the neighborhood?"

"Gazi. Wild nightlife there, apparently."

"Awesome." Louis stands up, holding Harry's hoodie in both hands. "It was nice meeting you, Addison."

"Call me Addie," she giggles, while Niall says, "Wait, you're not going after him, are you?"

He pretends not to hear either of them. He's already walking toward the dock and grabbing out his wallet to buy a ticket. Who knew he'd be returning to Athens so soon.


	5. Chapter 5

The Uber from Piraeus Port to Gazi takes forever. But the Uber driver is friendly, practicing his English as they sit in traffic. Ed Sheeran plays on the radio.

Louis tells the driver he doesn't know anything about the clubs in Gazi and the man recommends a few of his favorites. Louis is a bit worried about finding his way to four or five clubs in the middle of the night when the man says, "But start with Why Sleep? on Voutadon 50. It's small. You will make friends."

Louis thanks him and adds a generous tip to the fare as soon as he steps out onto the street. His mom will kill him for turning international roaming on his phone, but he'll pay her back. Plus interest, if necessary.

He uses the maps app to find Why Sleep? He joins a line of people trying to get in, mostly women dressed in tight bandage dresses and high-heeled boots. The men are wearing loose shirts with most of the buttons undone. It's a warm night, but not that warm. Louis is the perfect temperature in his jeans. But he imagines getting sweaty as soon as he sets foot on the sure-to-be crowded dance floor inside.

Finally, he is allowed inside. The club is somewhat industrial looking, with exposed beams and pipes overhead. Lights shine down from the beams, swinging wildly over the writhing crowd. The whole room feels alive, like a fast-beating heart. The walls pulse in time with the ear-splitting EDM music, which makes Louis feel right at home. He wishes that Liam and Zayn were here to see this. He takes a quick snapchat video and sends it to them.

He runs into people as he makes his way through the crowded space. But most are too drunk to notice. The few who do only smile at him when he apologizes, because it's impossible to avoid bumping shoulders in such a packed room. After unsuccessfully circling the entire club, Louis retreats to the wall on the left side of the central bar. Hugging Harry's jacket to his chest, he's hit by a sudden wave of loneliness. Most people are dancing in groups or as couples, having a fun night out with their girlfriends and boyfriends and best friends. And Louis doesn't know any of them. He can't even speak the same language as most of them.

Then his gaze alights upon a familiar face and, somehow, it makes everything worse.

The sight of Harry making out with a woman in the middle of this club, with no regard for Louis' secret feelings, is agony. Of course, there's no way for Harry to know that Louis would probably walk through a fire just to make sure Harry is doing okay. No way for him to know that Louis feels like he's being consumed by that same fire whenever their eyes meet.

Their eyes meet. Harry continues kissing the anonymous woman, but he's looking right at Louis. He turns a little, so Louis has a full view of the passionate, openmouthed kiss. Is it Louis' imagination, or was the kiss close-mouthed just a moment ago?

Harry reaches down with both hands and grips the woman's ass. Louis clings tighter to the hoodie, completely immobilized by the sight of Harry's long fingers against her tight, yellow dress. It's the same yellow as the sweatpants Louis borrowed from Lottie, which is the weirdest coincidence. Pastel yellow certainly isn't the most popular shade to wear to a club. Most women here are dressed in seductive shades like black and red.

Harry flicks one last glance Louis, a lazy smile flashing across his face as his eyelids flutter closed and he reaches up to grip the back of the woman's neck. She's obviously into his touches, pushing her tits against him and licking her way between Harry's collarbones the second he pulls away.

Louis tries to look away. He wants--needs--to focus on anything other than the way Harry's head lolls back as she sucks a bruise into the side of his neck. But when Harry turns his head to stare at Louis again, all bets are off. The woman continues to mark Harry with her mouth, but he doesn't make any move to acknowledge her efforts. She seems to bite particularly hard into the sensitive flesh below his swallow tattoos and his lips part in a gasp. He's clearly drunk, maybe high, and his eyes glimmer with unveiled lust. Louis has never felt so desperate to get himself off. He needs a bathroom. Not a stall--the kind of bathroom where you lock yourself inside and pretend you had to be sick when you emerge flushed and sweaty.

But no, Louis can't jerk himself off to thoughts of Harry. Especially not in an unfamiliar city in the middle of the night. He should deliver the hoodie, say sorry for the intrusion, and board the next ferry back to Hydra.

When the woman starts getting grabby and impatient, taking one of Harry's hands and running it down the front of her yellow dress, Louis has officially had enough. He's not about to stand here and look on as Harry fucks some woman in Why Sleep?

Despite how hard he is from watching Harry, Louis is not some kind of creepy voyeur. He's _not_.

He pushes his way toward the door wordlessly, not offering an apology when someone yells at him for stepping on their toes. He storms across the street, muttering to himself about how horrible Harry Styles is.

"Waste of a fucking night," he says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "God, I'm such a fucking idiot."

He hopped on a ferry to Athens because he thought Harry might need him. He felt a surge of worry toward Harry that was completely involuntary and clearly misguided. Harry doesn't need help--especially not from Louis. He needs drinks and drugs and women. The fact that Louis thought Harry might be gay--"quite the opposite" of a homophobe--is embarrassing. It was wishful thinking.

A nearby restaurant advertises Nutella crepes for just one euro each, so he orders two and sits at an outside table. There's a half-full ashtray in the center of the table and Louis picks it up. He shakes it a little, reminded suddenly of his grandma. His mom's mom, the one who taught Louis to knit. It's morose to see ashes and think of her cremated remains, but he can't help it. A few years back, he went to the pier with Lottie and their mom to release their grandma into the Pacific. It was a Sunday evening and their dad didn't join them. He was busy watching a football game--the Chargers versus the Rams. Louis still remembers the final score, because he couldn't believe his dad chose football over family. Sure, his dad was an asshole, but still. That was a new low.

"What are you thinking about?"

The ashtray clatters to the table and Louis looks up. Harry is standing there, tattoos on full display through his sweat-soaked shirt. He's already fishing a cigarette out and lighting up when Louis finds his voice.

"I wasn't…I wasn't thinking about anything."

Harry inhales deeply and lets smoke trickle out his nose for a few moments before exhaling through his mouth. "May I?"

Louis nods as the woman who took his order appears with two Nutella crepes and sets one in front of him. She places the other in front of Harry, along with two rolls of silverware, and tells them to dig in.

"Knew I'd be showing up, did you?" Harry grins and takes a couple more drags from his cigarette before snubbing it out in the ashtray.

"They were both for me." Louis isn't sure what's more pathetic: Ordering two crepes in the hopes Harry would magically appear, or ordering two crepes and pigging out all alone.

Harry unrolls his silverware and cuts the crepe in front of him into bite-size pieces.

"But help yourself," Louis grumbles, unwrapping his own silverware.

"Fuck, this is amazing."

Louis nearly faints when a groan escapes from Harry's throat. When he imagined enjoying a meal across from a moaning Harry, they weren't eating crepes. But this is just fine.

Louis is halfway through his crepe when he remembers Harry's hoodie on his lap.

"Here," he says, handing it across the table. "That's the reason I came to Athens."

"You came to Athens…to give me my sweatshirt back."

"Um. Yes."

"Okay." Harry's teasing chuckle tells Louis that the lie isn't very convincing.

"So what about that woman in the club? I'm sure she's anxiously awaiting your return." Louis hates the insecure tremor in his voice.

"Doubtful. I told her I wouldn't be coming back."

"W-why?"

Harry shrugs like it's nothing. "You left, so what was the point in staying?"

Louis doesn't know how to answer that, so he finishes the rest of his crepe in just a few bites and offers his water to Harry.

"Thanks." Harry takes a couple gulps and hands it back. "Shall we?"

"I can get us an Uber." Louis is already taking his phone out. "It's a long drive to the port, but that's--"

"Louis." Harry touches Louis' wrist for the briefest moment. "There are no more ferries."

Louis looks at the place where Harry touched him, then at Harry's face.

"No more ferries?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not until bright and early in the morning. We're staying in Athens for the night."

Louis' eyes widen. "But…no. I can't stay here. I don't have a hotel. I don't even know my way around. My mom thinks I'm on a walk around the island, or some shit. This is--"

He stops when Harry's hands come to rest on his shoulders.

"Lou, _shh_. Send your mom a message and say you're with me. We can catch the first ferry in the morning if you want."

Louis nods dumbly. All he can focus on is the gentle pressure of Harry's hands, grounding him in the present. Saving from spiraling headfirst into anxious thoughts. It's the first time Louis has felt genuinely comforted in a while, and Harry is hardly even touching him.

After Louis lets his mom know what's happening, Harry tells him he has an Airbnb already set up.

"Booked it right before I took off," he says. "We can go there now, if you need to rest. Or we can wander around for a while."

Louis only considers for a moment before deciding, "Let's wander."

Harry leads them toward a neighborhood called the Plaka. It's closer to the Acropolis than Gazi, and the streets are even more crowded with tourists. Families walk amongst drunken bachelorette parties and the sidewalks are alive with people eating late dinner. Louis instinctively sticks close to Harry as they move through the crowds, shoulders occasionally brushing. He wants nothing more than to take hold of Harry's hand, to entwine their fingers and stay like that all night. But instead, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and pretends to be unaffected by Harry's closeness as they explore the bustling streets and alleys of Athens together.

"This way," Harry says, nodding for Louis to take the next right. They walk up a narrow footpath, beneath a trellis threaded wildly with grapevines. Louis ducks beneath a Greek flag, another reminder of how far he is from home. As if the golden ruins spread out high above him aren't reminder enough.

"It's like a maze," Louis remarks, trying to memorize their route so they can retrace it later. "What if we can't find our way out?"

"Then we can't find our way out." Harry smiles. "Let's get lost, Louis. It's fun."

Louis isn't sure that getting lost sounds like fun, but his reservations vanish when Harry reaches out and squeezes his hand. So this is what butter feels like, melting on a hot pan.

"We can find the Airbnb now, if you're tired."

"No." Louis squeezes back, just for a moment, before they drop their hands. "Let's get lost."

\--

The Airbnb is a simple studio apartment. Louis tries not to stare at the king-sized bed, instead pulling up red plastic shutters to reveal a small porch. They're high up, on the fifth floor of a nondescript apartment building. It's not far from the thumping streets of Gazi, but this neighborhood is quiet.

Louis unlatches a narrow glass door and steps out onto the porch. A street light washes everything yellow--the scrubby trees, the Greek graffiti on the rooftops. Their apartment is above the much shorter buildings on either side. There's a café on the left and a salon on the right. Across the street, a small booth is still open and selling basic provisions like newspapers, condoms, and gum. The young shopkeeper sits on the curb, smoking and scrolling through his phone.

"Sorry the view is shit."

Louis turns to see Harry standing in the doorway, a lit cigarette between his lips.

"It's not shitty."

Harry snorts. "If you like garbage and graffiti."

Louis narrows his eyes. "You sound like a snob."

"If high standards make me snobby, so be it."

"Are you serious?"

Harry shrugs and takes a long pull from his cigarette. Louis hates smoking, but he doesn't mind the smell. Zayn and Liam used to sneak cigarettes during lunch and spray themselves with Febreze before returning to school.

"If you can't find beauty in garbage and graffiti, I feel sorry for you."

"You feel sorry for me," Harry says in a disbelieving tone.

"Uh, _yeah_. Ever been to Venice Beach?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Of course you haven't. You've only been to Nobu in Malibu, right?"

"Nobu is fucking amazing."

"That's not my point."

Harry rolls his eyes. "What is your point, Louis?"

The flames in his stomach surge, causing sparks to crackle up and caress the chambers of his stupid heart. Louis is unnerved by the immediate physical response he has whenever Harry says his name, even in jest.

"My point is, Venice Beach is beautiful. I mean, really, reeeally beautiful. There's graffiti everywhere, and murals, and pizza for a dollar a slice. People don't mind how dirty it is, because that's what makes it Venice."

"So you like the smell of piss."

Louis sighs and looks down at a passing scooter.

"I'm kidding," Harry says. "I'll check it out the next time I'm in LA. Maybe even get food poisoning from one of those cheap pizza slices."

Louis glances over his shoulder. "You'll be in LA soon."

"How'd you know that?" Harry tips his head to the side in confusion, and Louis is immediately reminded of a puppy. How is it possible that this rich, arrogant, drug-abusing pop star reminds him of a puppy?

"I…well, you said you have a house there. It's not that hard to put two and two together," Louis says harshly, hoping his aggressive tone will be enough to make Harry drop the subject. The last thing he needs is for Harry to realize that Louis googled him. Seeming indifferent toward Harry is a luxury that Louis doesn't want to give up. He can't imagine how badly Harry would torment him if he realized how much Louis cares for him.

And to think he came all this way to berate Harry for being a terrible role model and fake friend to Lottie.

"Niall said something happened. He didn't tell me what," Louis adds in a rush. He doesn't want Harry to get pissed at Niall for sharing too much. "But he said it upset you."

Harry nods. His cigarette is smoldering between his fingertips. It's almost burned down to the filter.

"Want to talk about it?"

Harry takes so long to respond; Louis thinks he's being totally ignored. Then, finally, Harry shakes his head.

"You don't trust me?" Louis intends it to be a joke, but there's a note of seriousness shadowing his light tone.

"I trust you," Harry says easily, unthinkingly. "It's got nothing to do with that."

"Then what?"

"I can't talk about it."

Louis wants to press for more, but instead he pulls his sleeves over his hands and tells Harry he's getting chilly standing outside. They go back in and Louis uses the bathroom. It's cute, with glossy pink subway tile behind the toilet and a thick rug beneath the mounted sink. He splashes some lukewarm water on his face and dries it with a hand towel. When he emerges, Harry has already dragged some blankets out of the armoire. He's making the couch into a bed.

"I'll take the couch," he offers.

"You'll take the bed." Harry strips off his shirt and flops onto the couch before Louis can protest.

"That hardly seems fair," Louis says, hands on his hips. "You paid for the apartment."

Harry throws an arm over his face and sighs into the crook of his elbow. "Are you really going to argue with me about this? I'm just trying to be polite, or whatever."

Louis hates the note of annoyance in Harry's voice. It's so unfair, when Louis is simply trying to acknowledge the fact that he's invading Harry's space. He grabs a pillow off the bed and hurls it at the couch. It hits Harry square in the chest.

Harry pulls his arm off his face and looks between the pillow and Louis. "Did you just throw a pillow at me?"

Louis nods.

"I would come over there and fight you, but I'm very tired."

"And high, probably." It slips out before Louis has a chance to consider his words. He immediately wants to take it back.

"I'm not high."

"I meant drunk. You're probably drunk." There. That sounds better than accusing Harry of doing coke.

"Louis, we just walked around the city for hours. I was buzzed at the club, but now I'm completely sober."

The hurt expression on Harry's face makes Louis want to writhe in pain. The flames aren't reminding him of his aliveness anymore--they're threatening to kill him.

"I-I didn't mean--"

"You read about me."

God, Louis wants to rewind the last minute. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

"What, you won't admit it? Fucking coward."

The aggression in Harry's tone is too much. Something in Louis snaps, and he hears himself shout, "Oh, _I'm_ a coward? Then you're a hypocrite. You got caught being a bad boy, so you went off the grid instead of trying to make amends. You haven't released a single public statement since the pictures were leaked--not even a tweet expressing remorse. You haven't followed anyone on social media except _my fucking sister_. The only person who can halfway stand you is Niall, and he sticks around because you pay him. Quite generously, I'll bet."

Louis stops to catch his breath. Harry is motionless, struck into silence by Louis' sudden outburst.

"I bet you have to pay your own parents to put up with you during the holidays."

Harry props a hand behind his head, surveying Louis with an unreadable expression. His face is as cold and impassive as a statue at midnight.

"Is that all?" he says, and his voice is surprisingly even. Each word carefully measured, as if he got insulted on live TV and is unable to react candidly for all the cameras.

"Yeah. That's it." Louis gets into bed and jerks the comforter to his chin. He turns the bedside lamp off without asking Harry if he wants it dark.

A few minutes later, he hears the gentle rustle of blankets. For a wild moment, he thinks that Harry might be sneaking over to suffocate him with that goddamned pillow. The bathroom light switches on and the door closes. Louis releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He hears the toilet flush and the sink run. The door reopens and the light turns off. The springs beneath the couch cushions squeak when Harry lies back down.  
"I'm sorry." Speaking out into the void is scary--Louis feels as if his frantic heart is thundering in his head, splashing blood against the curved walls of his skull. He's sure Harry won't respond. Won't forgive him.

"Don't apologize." Harry's voice is quiet. Louis clings to each word the way he clung to the blue-white beams of his nightlight when he was a kid. Whenever he was afraid of monsters under the bed, it made him feel protected. "You're right."

"No," Louis says. "I'm not right. I'm an asshole."

"Asshole or not, you've got me pegged."

"Don't say that." Louis finds himself sitting up in bed, glaring into the darkness. "I don't know you at all. I just made some stupid assumptions because of the shit I saw online."

The room is silent for several eternities. Louis hardly breathes, hoping Harry hasn't somehow managed to fall asleep. Then, "I dunno if Niall would stick around if I didn't pay his salary."

"He would." Louis says it without a second of hesitation. "He's your friend. He cares about you--it was obvious when he was telling me about how you took off for Athens. He was worried."

"I don't think I'm going to Holmes Chapel for Christmas this year."

"Holmes Chapel?"

"Home."

"Why the hell wouldn't you go home for Christmas?"

"Those pictures were posted just before my birthday this year. Toward the end of January. I received a birthday card from my mom just a few days later. All it said was, 'Very, very disappointed in you Harold. Sincerely, Mum'. I blocked her and my older sister, Gemma, from my phone later that day."

"You _blocked_ them?"

"I didn't want to make excuses for what I did. Holmes Chapel is a small town--I hate to think about the kind of judgment that people must've placed on Mum. All because her son is a fucking idiot."

"So you _blocked_ them."

"It's better than continuing to disappoint them. That's all I ever do--disappoint. I can never do enough for anyone. For my label, for the fans. Even if I give them a part of myself through my music, they want more. I disappoint them by just existing."

Louis hugs a pillow to his chest, wishing it were Harry. "That's not true. None of it."

"Lou--"

"No, Harry. Lottie has been your fan since forever ago, and she was never disappointed. Not when she preordered all your albums, or saw you at the Forum, or watched your music videos. You go above and beyond for your fans, and they know that. They love you for it."

Harry doesn't respond and Louis considers leaving it at that. He could let Harry sleep it off and see if his mood has improved by morning. But Louis knows that it will be impossible to fall asleep unless he knows that Harry is happy. Or at the very least, okay.

"'Oooh baby, hold me tight / Pretend we'll never see morning light / When you're with me / I want the whole wide world to see / How we're always ha-a-ppy'."

Holy shit, Harry is laughing. _Laughing_. Louis squeezes the pillow tighter, pressing against the flames in his tummy. No, not flames. Fireworks.

"Y-you really can't sing at all, can you?"

"Excuse you. I have the voice of an angel." Louis pouts before realizing that Harry can't see his facial expressions in the dark. Duh.

"You're a siren, luring sailors to shore."

"That's more like it."

Harry laughs again. "So are we going to get some sleep now, or did you plan on singing my whole first album?"

"Actually, I was thinking the first _and_ second. Maybe even the third, if you get me a glass of water to soothe my tired throat."

"Jesus, that's quite the threat. If this is how you treat people you like, I'd hate to be on your bad side."

"So now's probably not the best time to ask if you'll consider making me the opening act on your next tour."

"Learn to play an instrument really well and promise you'll never sing in front of a live audience. Then we'll talk."

Louis can't keep the huge smile from his face. He's suddenly glad for the dark, so Harry can't judge him for grinning like the hopeless idiot he is.

"If you still lived in LA, I'd get you backstage passes to my show at the Hollywood Palladium."

"What about Chicago?"

"What _about_ Chicago?"

Oh, yeah. Harry doesn't know that Louis is returning to America in August.

"I'm starting at the U of Chicago this fall."

"Really? You must be some kind of genius."

"It's a great school, but not _that_ great."

"A modest genius. The best kind."

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry's teasing.

"What will you study?"

Louis shrugs. "I declared English, but I dunno. I might add a second major once I get used to the workload. Film, maybe?"

They spend a while talking about their favorite movies. Harry complains about how he was robbed of Edward Cullen's part in the _Twilight_ franchise, but Louis does the math and realizes Harry was only fourteen when the first movie was released.

"Your audition tape was probably thrown out because you were fetal at the time. I doubt you passed for a sexy, secretly-a-million-years-old vampire."

Harry chuckles. "And now?"

"Now what?"

"Can I pass for a sexy, secretly-a-million-years-old vampire?"

"I dunno about the sexy part. But the part about looking old, yeah. I'd give you that role in a heartbeat."

Harry lets out a groaning yawn. Louis sets down his pillow and lies on his side. It's so late. It's so early. He closes his eyes.

"Lou?"

Harry's slow, sleepy voice is hands-down the cutest thing Louis has ever heard.

"Yeah, Harry?"

"When you get your film degree, please make a movie about old, unsexy vampires. And please cast me as the lead."

Louis smiles at Harry's slurred words.

"I won't even consider opening up auditions to anyone else."

"Promise?"

"Promise."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA there's smut toward the end of this chapter, so feel free to skip over that part if you'd rather not read it!

They didn't take the first ferry back to Hydra that morning. They didn't take the second or third, either. Louis woke up after ten, complaining that the day was already almost over. Harry called him a drama queen and took a long shower. When Louis went in after him, the mirror was steamed up and the subway tile was tear-streaked.

Harry threw away the shirt he wore in the club and pulled his hoodie on over black skinny jeans. Louis changed back into his long sleeved shirt, wishing he hadn't left it overnight in a pile with his jeans. He stood in the bathroom for a few minutes, trying to smooth the wrinkles out with his hands. But his efforts were in vain.

They ate brunch at the café next to the Airbnb--more Nutella crepes with hard-boiled eggs and soft cheese. Louis tried to pay for himself, but Harry slapped fifty euro down on the table and made a show of plugging his ears against Louis' halfhearted protests.

Now they're at Piraeus Port, waiting for the afternoon ferry to pick them up. Louis sends a message to his mom, telling her what time she should expect him at the house. Then he squints at the murky water, wishing he had his aviators.

"Who's it about?"

Harry looks at him, obviously waiting for Louis to clarify.

"Your song. The one I sang last night. Who did you write it about?"

"Oh, it's not about anyone. I was fucking this model at the time, but I didn't love her the way I pretend to in the song. I didn't love her at all."

"Have you loved anyone before?" Louis asks, though he's not sure he wants to know the answer. If Harry says yes, Louis will likely feel jealous. And that jealousy will probably linger like a chronic illness, not always felt but emerging when Louis least expects it.

"I have not."

"No one at all?"

"No one at all," Harry repeats amusedly. "Have you?"

Louis shakes his head. "I feel like I can't, you know, fall in love."

"You're aromantic?"

"It's not that I'm aromantic. It's that I use up all my feelings on Mom and Lottie. I worry about them constantly and I never used to think about other people…" _until you came along_.

"Never used to. So that's changed?"

Louis glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry seems only politely curious. Like he's merely talking to pass the time until they're allowed to board the ferry.

"It hasn't, actually. I never think about other people."

Harry doesn't respond. Boarding begins a few minutes later, so they get in line behind a big family from Texas. One of the daughters clearly recognizes Harry but seems too nervous to bring it up. Instead, she lets her dad bore Louis and Harry with the details of their European vacation until he's asked to show his ticket.

Harry ordered tickets for both himself and Louis on his phone, so he pulls it up for the dockworker to scan.

"Your seats are not together," she says, pointing at the numbers. "One is at the front and the other is at the back."

Harry lets Louis take the front seat and makes his way toward the back of the ferry. After staring blankly ahead for a few minutes, Louis allows himself a quick glance over his seat. Harry couldn't be farther away. Not just because of the rows separating them, but because Louis is too scared to be honest with Harry. Too scared to be honest with himself.

\--

Louis responds to Liam and Zayn's messages once he gets home. The texts have piled up since last night--responses to the vague video Louis recorded in Why Sleep? He should've hit them up once he and Harry found the Airbnb, but it's impossible to pay attention to his phone when Harry is around. Louis used to think of his phone as an escape. A way to pretend he wasn't bored out of his mind in chem or waiting twenty minutes for coffee at Starbucks. But when he's with Harry, the last thing he wants is a distraction.

Louis: _Hey mates, sorry for the late response. Was a bit busy last night_.

Zayn: _Mates??_

Louis: _Been hanging out w a couple Brits._  
_Well, a Brit and an Irishman. They say mates_.

Liam: _Lol define hanging out_.

Zayn: _You're not having threesomes without us, are you?_

Liam: _Zayn would be hella jealous if he weren't invited._

Louis: _Fuck off._  
_Both of you, seriously._

Zayn: _Seriously, that club looked sick. Did you hook up w some Greek god?_

Liam: _I bet the guy's name was Adonis._

Louis: _Hahahaha I'm somehow getting less here than I got in LA._

Zayn: _Liar!!_

Louis: _It's true_.

Liam: _But what about these mates of yours?_  
_Are either of them hot?_

Zayn: _Louis??_

Liam: _I'm gonna take your silence as a yes, Tommo._

Louis: _Welllllllllll…_

Zayn: _TELL US EVERYTHING!!_

Liam: _Spill it. Now._

Louis: _Ever heard of Harry Styles?_

Zayn: _Duh._

Liam: _I've lived on Earth for the last few years, so yeah._

Zayn: _WAIT._  
_ISN'T HARRY STYLES BRITISH??_  
_HOLY SHIT HE IS._  
_AND HIS MANAGER IS IRISH._

Louis: _He's kind of incredible. I hate him, but still. Incredible._

Liam: _Just googled this guy to see some recent pics._  
_Kudos, Tomlinson._  
_Didn't think you had it in you._

Zayn: _Speaking of things you've had in you…_  
_How's his cock?_

Louis: _HOLY FUCK ZAYN._  
_We're not there yet._  
_Not even close._  
_Never will be._

Liam: _Never say never._

Louis: _Idk if he likes guys._  
_He's only talked about fucking women, so like…_  
_I'm shit out of luck._

Zayn: _Dude, he's bi._

Louis: _I wish._

Zayn: _No, like, he's bi._  
_He's talked about it in interviews before._

Liam: _There you go!_  
_Let us know what being fucked by a celebrity feels like, yeah?_

Louis: _Says the guy who got a handjob from that one Instagram-famous model._

Liam: _I mean…_  
_She was pretty great._

Zayn: _Go for it, Louis. This guy seems perfect for you._

Louis: _And you've drawn that conclusion based on…?_

Zayn: _His ass. There are so many pics on Tumblr._  
_So. Many. Ass. Pics_.

Louis: _He's more than his ass, Zayn!_

Zayn: _Okay, okay. I'm done objectifying him._  
_If you like this guy, I'm sure he's fucking awesome._

Liam: _We miss you so much, bro._

Louis: _I MISS YOU BOTH._

Zayn: _I gotta go, but keep us posted on the Harry situation._  
_Love ya Lou._

\--

Louis decides to spend the next few days helping out around the house. He feels guilty for disappearing to Athens, even though his mom said it was perfectly fine. He's eighteen and can make smart decisions on his own.

Lottie had a much different reaction to Louis' overnight stay in the city. She made obnoxious kissy noises and asked when Harry was planning on going public with their relationship. When Louis asked what it meant to go public, she replied, "You'll be public when he posts about you on Instagram. _Obviously_."

Louis assured her that he would never be featured on Harry's Instagram, because they're not in a relationship. Lottie rolled her eyes and got distracted by something on her phone, which he was intensely thankful for. He hurried to the backyard before she could harass him further.

He tries to push thoughts of Harry from his mind as he sweeps the patio and pulls weeds from the cracked concrete. He wears headphones and turns the volume on Liam's playlist up and focuses on shaking parched dirt from the withered roots of each weed. He smiles at the opening notes of an old Justin Timberlake song--Liam isn't a huge JT fan, which means he only included it because he knows Louis likes it.

Louis sings along, and the music is so loud in his ears that he's unable to hear how bad his voice is. It's a blessing.

He's also unable to hear someone open the back door and call his name. He jumps when a hand touches his shoulder.

"Jesus," he says breathlessly, pulling the headphones from his ears. He hopes Harry didn't hear him singing JT.

"Were you singing JT?"

"If you have to ask, you're not a real fan," Louis sniffs, pretending his dignity isn't as dead as the pile of weeds he just pried up from the ground.

"Oh, no, I'm a huge fan. I've just never heard a possum screech 'Cry Me A River' before."

Louis' glare only makes Harry laugh harder.

"No offense meant to possums," Harry shouts, nervously looking around as if there might be a possum or two eavesdropping from the bushes.

"I hate you." The three words are filled with affection. Louis is almost certain he means the exact opposite.

"I need your help."

Louis must've heard wrong. Surely Harry doesn't need help with anything. He has enough money to buy entire islands and still boasts a shockingly huge fan base, despite the drug use.

"Louis?"

"Oh, um. Help?"

Harry presses his lips together. "Yes. I need help. Your help."

"Okay. With what?"

Harry nods toward the low concrete wall that surrounds the backyard. A lone chicken clucks past and Louis shoos it before they sit.

"Not your chicken?"

Louis shakes his head. "And they're mean. I got chased by one a few days ago."

"I would've loved to see that. Invite me over if it happens again, yeah?"

Louis gives Harry an annoyed little shove, but it's mostly just an excuse to touch Harry's shoulder. Beneath his thin black T-shirt, Harry's muscles are well defined but soft. He has the arms of someone who works out without overworking themselves. Definitely not someone who makes "daily gainz," as Liam calls it.

"So, you require my assistance," Louis prompts. "You should know up front: I charge by the hour."

Harry traces his index finger over the fullness of his bottom lip and Louis can't help following the motion with his eyes.

"I'm sure your rates are quite expensive," Harry murmurs.

Louis blushes, realizing that it must've sounded as if he was pitching himself to Harry as a prostitute.

"Help…." He's not so much reminding Harry as he is genuinely asking for help. He wants to be saved from this sea of uncertainty that sparkles beautifully beneath the Mediterranean sky, but is fraught with dangerous undertows just below the surface.

"Right, yeah. I need you to listen to this for me." Harry grabs AirPods from the pocket of his skinny jeans and hands them to Louis. "Be honest, okay? Completely honest. Brutally honest, if necessary."

Louis nods seriously. He puts the AirPods in his ears and waits as Harry opens an MP3 file from his email inbox.

"Ready?"

Louis nods again and goes still when a song starts. It's so unlike any of Harry's official releases. Gone is the glitzy production. The sweeping choruses are replaced by something sweeter--nothing to distract from the sound of Harry's raspy, emotive voice and the sparse, distant twang of an acoustic guitar. There's beauty in the brevity of this song. Louis isn't religious, but this song ignites a weird, holy-feeling glow somewhere deep within. Bitterly honest, unflinchingly raw--Harry's new song is anything but temporal. Louis feels as if they are entering parallel universes as they sit on this concrete wall, flipping through each one like the pages in a book. This song transcends anything he's ever heard before. When it's over, he doesn't move for a few moments. Then he takes the AirPods out and turns to Harry.

"You hated it." Harry locks his phone and looks down.

Louis wants to grab Harry's face between his hands and kiss that glum, defeated expression away. He wants to sprint laps around the backyard and shout about how nothing has made him feel quite so infinite, free, and _alive_ as Harry's song. But instead, he rests a tentative hand on Harry's knee.

"The exact opposite."

Their eyes meet. Harry looks nervously hopeful.

"Really?"

"Harry, I…I can't even tell you how amazing that song is. There aren't adequate enough words in the English language. And I would know--I aced the SAT, so I've got tons of obnoxious adjectives up my sleeve. Unprecedented. Astounding. Numinous. Prodigious. Treme--"

"Okay, okay." Harry is laughing now, and his smile is so wide Louis thinks his face might split open. His green eyes are clearer than just a moment before. Molten emerald, crinkling at the corners.

"It's almost like you looked inside me, understood the things I don't understand about myself, and translated them into music. You made them knowable."

Harry looks at Louis with unmasked wonder. "Are you…you're serious?"

Louis nods. He needs Harry to know that he's not fucking with him. He would never joke about something this important.

"Wow, okay." Harry runs a hand through his hair, long enough that the ends curl delicately in all different directions. "That's great, Louis. Not great. Better than great. Unprecedented. Astounding. Numi--"

"Enough," Louis cackles, taking his hand from Harry's knee and plugging his ears. "I never want to hear another SAT vocabulary word again."

"I'm just glad you liked it," Harry says, smiling shyly.

"Didn't Niall like it?"

"Um, I dunno. You're the first person I shared it with, so…I should probably give him a listen now, too."

Louis can't believe it.

"Thank you for showing me," he says, his voice a little higher and breathier than intended. "Is it going to be on the new album?"

Harry lets out a mirthless, barking laugh. He rubs his temple with his long fingers and shakes his head.

"There likely won't be a new album. It's a long story."

Louis wants the long story. He wants all of Harry's long stories, as long as it means Harry will never leave Hydra. As long as it means sitting on this wall forever, walking these worn paths forever, swimming in this warm sea forever.

"It's for an event tonight--this local dance revue. A bunch of kids from the island are going to be performing down by the harbor. They've been building the stage all day."

"Did they ask you to play a song during the show?"

"Yeah. One of the moms who organizes it said her children are big fans, so I couldn't say no. But none of my old songs felt right, so I decided to write a new one."

"Can I come? To the show?"

"She gave me a few extra tickets." Harry grabs some homemade-looking tickets, printed out on bright yellow construction paper. "If you're not busy, I'd love to see you there. All of you. Bring Lottie and your mom."

Louis nods. "We'll all be there. Absolutely." He tucks them into his pocket. "Are you nervous?"

"A little. I haven't performed since the end of last year."

"You're going to be brilliant."

"'Brilliant', huh?" Harry grins. "You're starting to sound like a true Brit."

"Shut up." Louis crosses his arms. "I can't wait to see the whole audience cry uncontrollably when you sing this song."

"You didn't cry uncontrollably."

_Yeah, because you were sitting right next to me and I was too embarrassed._

"That doesn't mean other people won't," Louis says, when all he wants to say is, _Not crying was one of the hardest things I've ever done._

\--

Louis doesn't know how to dress for the performance. Lottie sighs dramatically when Louis admits he didn't think to ask Harry about a dress code and says that they should all err on the side of formality.

"It's much better to be overdressed than underdressed," she reasons. "Like, people might hate you for wearing sweatpants to a fancy event. But no one will hate you for wearing a dress to a pizza party. They'll just be impressed and think you look way hot. They'll assume you fall asleep in Louboutin heels every night."

Lottie dresses like they plan on hitting up the Palais Garnier. Louis tells her that the fake diamond broach is overkill and she reluctantly agrees. He wears his green Adidas sweatpants with the matching jacket. Lottie berates him for looking so aggressively casual, but he shrugs and says this is his version of a suit.

"A sweat-suit. Is. Not. A suit-suit," Lottie says through gritted teeth.

Louis just smiles in response, which irks her even more.

They reach the harbor a few minutes before the show is scheduled to start. The rows of folding seats are mostly full, so they find a few spaces near the back of the audience and file in. The stage is bigger than Louis expected, lifted a few feet above the ground with colorful spotlights hanging from metal beams overhead. A black curtain also hangs from the beams, providing a backdrop for the performance. Behind the curtain, the sun has almost vanished. The bright oranges and pinks are melting away, leaving behind a humid dusk that reminds Louis of the night when he first saw Harry.

"Are you okay?"

Louis sniffs and smudges at his eyes with his thumb. He's not going to cry. He's _not_.

"'m fine."

The first few performances are fun to watch. The older girls are impressive dancers and the young ones are cute in their artless ineptitude. Louis almost forgets that Harry's performance will be amongst them, but then the stage clears and someone sets up a mic beneath a single golden spotlight. Fuck, he's going to cry. He _is_.

A few people gasp when Harry emerges onstage with a guitar. Toward the front of the crowd, Louis hears a strangled cry of, "Haaarryyy!"

_Same, girl_.

"Good evening."

The gravelly silk of Harry's voice, magnified by huge speakers on both sides of the stage, makes Louis' heart feel too big for his chest.

"Let's have another hand for those incredible dancers, please."

Louis claps along with everyone else. Leave it to Harry to turn the spotlight on others when a literal spotlight is shining down upon him.

"I'm glad they didn't ask me to dance tonight, because, well, I can't." He laughs self-deprecatingly. "But I can sing, so if it's alright with you, I'll do that now."

The crowd goes wild, so Harry smiles and plucks the first few chords of his new song. And if Louis was worried about the song losing its specialness now that so many others have heard it, he was wrong. When Harry begins to sing, Louis is unaware of the people around him. Hearing the song a second time, he realizes that the lyrics are about Harry's family. But they're also about Louis' family. They're about anyone who has ever felt the agony and joy of isolation. Anyone who has ever felt hopeless, lost, found, lost again.

The crowd, silent while Harry sang, erupts once the final note rings out across the harbor. Louis stands along with everyone else, wishing he were backstage. Wishing he could be the first one to wrap Harry in a congratulatory hug and tell him how incredible he is. How he could never disappoint anyone, especially not Louis.

Lottie leans toward Louis. "Should we try to find him? I want to tell him how good that was."

Louis shrugs. "Go ahead. I need to take a walk."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. I'm fine." Louis turns to their mom and says, "I'll meet you at home, okay? I want to take a walk around the island."

She nods and says she'll leave the front door unlocked.

"I'll tell Harry you liked it," Lottie calls after him.

Louis gives her a halfhearted thumbs up. Then he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and walks quickly around the port. It's quieter on this side. Emptier. A few restaurants are still busy, but the shops are closed. He makes his way beneath the windmills, the lights of the harbor disappearing behind him. He walks past the restaurant where they ate with Harry and Niall, past the homes and beaches. He's not sure where he's going until he reaches Harry's beach. He sits near the water and digs his feet into the cold sand.

Who knows why he couldn't join Lottie in telling Harry what a great performance that was. As much as he wanted to make sure Harry felt good about it, holding back his true emotions seemed too painful. Distilling all the adoration Louis feels toward Harry into a few trite pleasantries would be nearly impossible.

He needs to keep his distance. Otherwise, he'll say something that will ruin him. Something like, "I think I'm in love with you," which is impossible. Louis has never been in love with anyone, and he's only known Harry for a little more than a week. Such intense feelings shouldn't be able to grow in such a short amount of time. Especially toward a person he tried so hard to despise.

The ocean is indifferent toward Louis' inner turmoil. The waves continue, much as they always have, to break upon the shore. The moon makes sure of that.

He remembers the time Zayn dared him to jump off the end of the Malibu pier. It was the night after homecoming and they weren't drunk--just a little buzzed. Louis thought it sounded scary, but not as scary as coming out. So he did it, to prove he could. And he came out right after, dripping wet on the beach. Zayn and Liam hugged him tight, hardly noticing the brackish water all over their dry clothes.

"Can I join you?"

Louis looks up and smiles at the sight of Harry. It doesn't matter how conflicted and anxious he felt a few moments ago--once Harry shows up, he feels better. Even their arguments are a gift.

"Yeah."

Harry sits next to him and they stare out at the dark water for a while. It's a comfortable silence. Louis feels as if they're in conversation with the ocean, each wave a word to be interpreted and perhaps misunderstood.

"How'd you know where to find me?" Louis asks, interrupting the sea.

"I didn't know you'd be here. Lottie said you went for a walk, so I guessed." Harry gives Louis a sidelong glance. "Lucky guess."

Louis nods. He doesn't know what to say. His throat is so, so dry. Like he's never had a sip of water in his whole life.

"Have you ever eaten Cinnamon Toast Crunch without milk?" he asks.

"Uh, no." Harry laughs. "So that's what you're thinking about right now? Cereal?"

"No. Well, yes. I'm thinking about this one morning, back when I was in high school. I ate like, four bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. We were out of milk, so I just ate it without any. And I was so parched when I went to class, I could barely talk. Turned my throat into the fucking Sahara."

"Do you feel that way now?"

Louis nods at his feet.

"Like you can't talk?"

Another nod.

"Then we don't have to talk."

Harry takes Louis' chin in both hands, forcing Louis to meet his eyes. The fire must still be burning within him, but he can hardly feel it anymore. It's like when something is so far beyond hot, it's cold. And so far beyond cold, it's numb.

When their lips meet, it takes Louis a moment to understand what's happening. But once he realizes, he gently reciprocates. And it's overwhelming, this feeling. Harry kisses the way a flower unfurls its petals beneath the sun's loving gaze. When Louis' lips part in a sigh, Harry grips the back of his neck. His long, sure fingers thread through Louis' short hair and the kiss intensifies.

Louis finds himself grabbing at the front of Harry's shirt, rucking it up so he can press wanting hands against the tattoos he's worshipped since that first night. Harry responds by pulling away for an instant and dragging it off. Louis is overcome with lust at the sight of Harry's swollen lips and mussed curls. When Harry leans back in for more, Louis lets him. And when Harry starts to unzip his jacket, Louis lets him. Louis would let Harry do anything. He would let Harry fuck him right here, into the sand.

"God, Louis," Harry says, his voice husky with want. Louis isn't sure what parallel universe this is--in what parallel universe does Harry Styles want _him?_ \--but he's not about to argue with it.

Once Louis is also shirtless, Harry drags him onto his lap. As soon as he straddles Harry's lap, knees digging into the sand, Louis can feel the hard line of Harry's cock. He can't help the whine that escapes at the unyielding press of Harry's arousal against his own erection. The whine seems to spark something in Harry, who drags his teeth across Louis' bottom lip. Louis bites back, and soon he's unable to tell where his body stops and Harry's begins. The unexpected intimacy of this makes him rut forward, hips stuttering desperately against Harry's torso.

" _Shh_ , baby," Harry murmurs against Louis' lips. "I'll take care of you."

Louis gasps, reaching for the bulge in his sweatpants. He can't stand to leave his cock unattended for another moment--he needs to get himself off while Harry is still beneath him, while this is all real. Because he might wake from this dream any second.

"No." Harry closes his hand around Louis' small wrist, restraining him completely. He nips at Louis' neck, sucking a reverent bruise right below the jawbone. "I said I'll take care of you," he whispers, this time against Louis' Adam apple. "And I will, if you show me that you can be patient."

"I can…patient," Louis breathes, nodding frantically. "Patient."

Harry groans, biting softly into the skin of Louis' collarbone. "Good, baby. Here, feel how fucking hard I am for you."

He takes Louis' wrist again and invites Louis to palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Louis salivates at how big Harry feels. He wants nothing more than to suck Harry off, to make him feel so good on the beach where they first saw each other. He unzips Harry's jeans and pushes them down with shaky hands. He thinks about all the people who have done this same thing to Harry, men and women blowing him backstage and at five-star resorts and in private planes. His confidence is gone like the quick retreat of a wave.

"It's okay," Harry says, kissing lightly across Louis' bare chest. "If you're not ready, we don't have to do anything."

"No, it's not…it's not that."

"Then what is it, baby?"

Louis shivers when Harry runs a finger, feather-light, over the shape of his lips. Before he can second-guess himself, Louis takes the finger into his mouth. He sucks it down to the knuckle and moans when Harry adds another.

"You sure?" Harry asks, pupils blown and lips parted in awe.

Louis nods and spreads Harry's legs so he can kneel between them. Harry pushes his jeans and briefs down so his ass is bare on the sand and his cock is against his stomach. Louis always thought blowjobs were a chore--something to endure for a few uncomfortable minutes so his boyfriend wouldn't call him a prude. But now, the thought of Harry coming down his throat makes him hungry for it. He wraps a hand around Harry's cock, struck by how small his hand looks in comparison to Harry's length.

Louis jerks Harry off for a few moments, reveling in the wrecked noises Harry makes at each flick of Louis' wrist. He presses against the head of Harry's cock and smears precome down the shaft, feeling a burst of confidence when the sudden slickness makes Harry's thighs tremble.

He bends forward and licks Harry's cock from the base to the tip. Harry's head was thrown back when Louis got him off with his hand, but now he looks down and groans, "Fuck, Louis. You're so hot like this, about to take my cock."

Louis doesn't need any more encouragement. He sucks at the head of Harry's cock for a moment before taking in more. He bobs up and down a few times, getting used to the feeling, and strokes everything he can't take with an eager hand. His eyes fill with tears when Harry's cock hits the back of his throat, but he doesn't gag. He keeps going, closing his eyes contentedly when he feels Harry's strong hands twine through his hair and tug a little.

Louis stops sucking Harry's cock long enough to beg, "Fuck my face. Please. Now."

This time, Louis doesn't have to move his mouth up and down on Harry. He reaches down and grabs his own cock, jerking himself off roughly as Harry's hips buck into his mouth.

"You always look so innocent," Harry growls between thrusts. "But you're so dirty, aren't you? So fucking dirty, wanting my cock in you."

It's too much--Louis comes all over his hand and sags forward a little. He can tell Harry's close by the frenzied, uneven thrusts.

"'m gonna come," Harry mutters through gritted teeth. "If you don't want me coming down your throat, you can stop."

Louis doesn't stop. He continues choking on Harry and swallows once it's over. When Harry pulls him up for a kiss, Louis' limbs feel loose and relaxed. He wraps his arms around Harry's neck and laughs when Harry reaches for his cock.

"I, um, kind of already…."

"You came from sucking me off?" Harry doesn't sound annoyed like Louis worried he might. He kisses Louis on the forehead. "Let's wash off."

"At your hotel?"

"I was thinking right here, but a real shower works too."

Louis looks at the moonlit ocean. "Here."

"Okay then." Harry smiles and gently nudges Louis to get up. They leave their clothes on the beach and walk into the waves.

Louis shivers when the water reaches his waist. It's colder than during the day. He wraps his arms around himself as his teeth begin to chatter.

"You ready to go under?" Harry asks, taking Louis' hand and kissing it.

Louis nods.

"On three. One…two… _three_."

The water stings less once Louis is submerged. Floating in complete darkness, the only thing he knows is the promise of his hand in Harry's. He tries to make sense of what just happened--those euphoric minutes on Harry's beach--but he needs to breathe. He breaks the surface at the same time as Harry.

"Cold?" Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head no.

"Liar." Harry grins and pulls Louis toward him. The cold loses any bite when Louis feels Harry's naked body against his own. He kisses across Harry's nose and cheeks, sucking delicately at his earlobes, and shivers in excitement when it draws a sound of strangled satisfaction from Harry's throat.

"You're unbelievable," Harry murmurs, fingers falling on Louis' face with the lightest of touches. As if Louis might break. As if he's an apparition that will ultimately vanish in a cloud of ghostly tendrils, leaving Harry alone once more.

"I could say the same about you."

Their next kiss is charged with urgency, as if they understand the inevitability of another dawn but are unwilling to acknowledge it. As if a longer kiss, a deeper kiss, a more lingering kiss can keep them in this moment forever.

Louis doesn't realize he's hard again until Harry's long fingers wrap around him. Louis lets his head fall forward, pressing their foreheads together as Harry continues to stroke him. His breathing becomes jagged and unsteady as Harry's movements quicken beneath the surface. He reaches down and finds Harry equally as hard.

With anyone else, Louis would feel embarrassed by such extreme closeness. He would close his eyes and not allow himself to be so vulnerable. But he keeps his eyes open the whole time, watching Harry's lips part in pleasure and not kissing them. He doesn't want to lean in for a kiss and miss the emotions playing across Harry's open, unguarded face.

They come at the same time, stroking each other through the orgasm.

"Oh my _god_ ," Harry breathes, gripping the nape of Louis' neck with his wet fingers. "That was…."

Louis couldn't agree more.


	7. Chapter 7

Louis wakes up in Harry's hotel room. They didn't do anything but undress and fall asleep, which Louis is glad for. When they fuck for the first time, he doesn't want to be drunk with exhaustion and rough with dried saltwater.

He stretches his arms overhead, not allowing himself to dwell on the empty bed. Harry is probably getting coffee, or breakfast, or talking to Niall downstairs in the courtyard. Remembering the way Harry held him so close and called him baby makes him smile and hug the sheets to his chest. In the light of a new day, it seems totally surreal.

He sits up and takes stock of the room. Harry didn't bother turning a light on when they got back, telling Louis to dump his things on the ground and not bother with anything until morning. Now Louis can see that Harry has been living in a nice room since he arrived on Hydra. Nice, but not ostentatious. The blue-framed photographs of the island and small white dresser seem far simpler than the ornate fixtures that must adorn the opulent Ritz-Carlton hotels where Harry usually stays.

Louis notices something on top of the dresser. It makes him sit up a little straighter, the sheets pooling around his waist. He crawls across the bed, determined to get a closer look. It can't be. Is it really…?

A tampon applicator.

\--

Louis finds Harry sitting alone in the courtyard. He's in the shade of an olive tree, drinking clear liquid from a clear glass. Louis has an awful feeling it's not water.

"Harry, what the fuck?" Louis crouches, wincing at the sand in his pants. He can smell the sharpness of Harry's drink from a foot away. "It's nine in the morning."

"Had to get started early," Harry slurs, raising the glass like he's giving a toast.

"Stop it." Louis tries to grab the glass away, but Harry holds tight.

"Fuck off, Louis."

"Do you _hear_ yourself?" Louis hisses, looking to make sure they're still the only ones in the courtyard. "You woke up and immediately snorted coke off the dresser. You're drunk off your ass and it isn't even noon."

"Wanted to forget," Harry mumbles, his voice lacy with alcohol. "Forget everything."

"I-I don't understand." Louis tries to take Harry's hand, but Harry pulls away with a look of pure disgust. "Wanted to forget what?"

"You, Louis. I wanted to forget _you_."

He's not going to cry. He's _not_.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry for last night. Shouldn't--I shouldn't have done that to you."

"The hell are you talking about?" Louis whispers fiercely. He's all too aware of the open windows above them. "You have nothing to apologize for. I wanted last night. I _loved_ last night."

Harry shakes his head, throwing back the rest of his drink before Louis can stop him. Alcohol dribbles from the corner of his mouth and Louis reaches up to wipe it away. Harry swats his hand away mercilessly.

"It was supposed to be casual. Just a shag and nothing…nothing else," Harry babbles to himself. "'m leaving soon. Need to stop it before…so young, Lou, you're so young. It was wrong."

"No, god, no. Harry, I'm eighteen. What happened was totally legal. It was totally oka--"

"Something can be legal and immoral at the same time," Harry snaps, speaking clearer than just moments before. He pushes Louis away, and there's no invitation in it. No sign that he wants Louis to push back. No sign that he wants Louis around at all.

"It wasn't immoral," Louis says, backing up so Harry can't shove him again. "Were you even there? Nothing so perfect could ever be wrong."

"That's stupid, Louis. Stupid. You don't know anything. You've never been anywhere." Harry rubs the frustrated crease between his eyebrows. His hair is a mess, his shirt unbuttoned with both sleeves rolled to his elbows.

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. You should leave, Louis. Because I don't care about you, okay? I don't fucking care."

Louis stands up, stumbling a little as the blood rushes to his head for a few sightless seconds.

"Fine. I'll leave. But not because I want to. Because you're fucking weak. You're a fucking loser who pushes people away when you need them most. Your family is probably better off now that you're out of the picture. They really dodged a bullet."

Louis doesn't mean any of it. Hot, silent tears needle at the corner of his eyes as he waits for Harry to react. He wants-- _needs_ \--Harry to lash out with an equally cruel insult. He needs Harry to deliver the final blow. The one that will end everything.

Harry's voice is quiet when he says, "What about you? This is your chance to dodge the bullet. So dodge it."

But Louis doesn't want to. He wants to take the bullet for Harry, let it tear through the chambers of his own stupid heart so that Harry can carry on living.

"Okay," he says. "I'm leaving."

Harry doesn't respond. He tips his glass back, but it's already empty.

"I'm leaving," Louis repeats, backing slowly away.

Harry reaches into his pocket and pulls a flask out. He unscrews the cap and pours it into his glass. But there's nothing left to pour.

"I'm leaving."

Harry doesn't look at him. He sets his glass and flask on the ground and slumps back against his chair.

Louis turns away. He walks beneath the trellis that leads from the courtyard, waiting for Harry to react. But Harry doesn't react. He doesn't move and he doesn't make a noise. He doesn't say what Louis longs to hear: _Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave_.

\--

Louis stumbles through the rest of the week. When his phone lights up with a FaceTime request from an unknown number on Thursday evening, he doesn't stop to consider the fact that it might be Harry. He knows that Harry wouldn't try to call him.

He answers in bed. Lottie and his mom are probably eating dinner, but he's not hungry. He hasn't been hungry since the morning he left Harry all alone in that courtyard.

"Louis, mate, I--oh, sorry, did I wake you?"

Louis sits up and pushes his hair back from his face. "No, I was just…I was resting. What's up?"

"It's Harry."

Louis grips his phone with both hands, trying to keep the panic from showing on his face.

"What about Harry?"

"He took off."

"Took off where?"

"Amsterdam."

" _Amsterdam_?"

"Hopped aboard a ferry to Athens last night and flew north this morning."

"Why the hell is he in Holland?"

"I'll give you two reasons: Weed and women."

Louis is going to be sick. He sets the phone on his lap and scrubs a hand down his face, trying to control his breathing.

"Look, Tommo, I know you had a fight with him."

"Did you--?"

"Yeah, I heard. Tried not to, but my room is on the first floor of the hotel. Addie told me to break you two up, but it felt like I shouldn't intrude. I'm dunno, maybe I should've put a stop to things. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Louis says vehemently, picking his phone up. "It's my fault. I didn't mean anything I said to him. I was pissed off and I--god, who knows why I said those things."

"He can be difficult, especially when he's faded. And for him to act like that after you two…you know. I wouldn't have reacted any better than you did."

Louis feels like he could cry. This new situation feels even more hopeless than when he was walking away from Harry. And so it's with a heaviness that he whispers dejectedly, "I really cared about him, Niall. I still do."

"I know," Niall says. "That's why I booked you a flight."

"You _what_?"

Niall flinches a little. "Please, just give it some thought. I booked you on an Aegean flight that leaves Athens tomorrow afternoon. You don't have to go if you don't want to. But if you do…I think Harry needs you right now."

"I'm the last person he wants to see."

"Doubt that."

Louis glances around at the mess of his room, mentally packing an overnight bag.

"How will I find him?"

"I have the Airbnb address. As his manager, I can access his email. I hate invading his privacy like this, but I like to think I have his best intentions in mind." Niall sips a dark purple smoothie and gives Louis a hesitant half-smile. "What do you think?"

"I think…I'll think about it."

"Okay. Call me back once you've decided?"

Louis promises he will and hangs up. He sits in the hollow silence of his room for about thirty seconds before calling back.

"Tommo," Niall greets him, smiling with purple teeth. "That was fast."

"Didn't really need to think about it," Louis says. "Of course I'll go."

\--

He touches down in Amsterdam at sundown the following day. Lottie made sarcastic comments about how very unofficial Louis' relationship with Harry seemed.

"I can't wait for him to post a pic of you on the canals," she squealed, giving Louis a hug before he left the port.

His mom gave him a hundred euro and said to stay safe.

"Let us know when to expect you home," she said, a little teary-eyed.

Louis was almost halfway to Athens before he realized that his mom had called Hydra their home. Something about this made Louis' heart unexpectedly warm. His mom hadn't felt truly at home since the divorce, so perhaps this hinted at her steady recovery. And if his mom was recovering from the domestic tragedies that sent her into a depressive spiral, perhaps Lottie could recover too. Perhaps she could start to trust that those around her would keep their promises, unlike their defunct dad.

He takes an Uber to Harry's Airbnb. The windows are dark, but he still presses the buzzer a few times. It's a narrow, four-story building that leans to the right.

Thankfully, he's not dragging a suitcase. He only has a couple changes of clothes and a toothbrush in his slim North Face backpack. The weather app told him to expect scattered showers, so he's dressed in a rain shell and black jeans. The jeans were one of the last things he bought in LA--a discounted pair of Sevens from the Nordstrom Rack. Zayn said they made his ass look, "subtly fuckable." Louis wasn't quite sure what that meant, but the comment along with a thumbs-up from Liam convinced him to buy them.

He's starving. Fuck airplane food, he's officially not charmed by cheap snacks and soda. Even the surprise first-class upgrade didn't make flying any better. He hasn't had a real meal since the egg-and-tomato scramble his mom made for breakfast.

He searches for nearby restaurants on his maps app and finds a hotdog place with rave reviews. It's only a fifteen-minute walk, so he starts in that direction. By the time he reaches it, he's about to keel over. But he doesn't go inside right away, because there's plastic fringe across the door and dim lighting inside. He checks the sign overhead to make sure he's at the right place: Bulls and Dogs.

Pushing through the plastic, he's met by a cute dining area filled with stylishly dressed hipsters. A friendly server gestures to a nearby table and brings him a menu. His mouth waters as he reads through the "freakalicious milkshake" selection. How could he possibly decide on just one?

When the server returns, Louis is nervous to order in English. But she seems to sense his hesitation and welcomes him with a, "Have you made a decision?"

Louis orders an Insane Chocolate Devotion milkshake, though he could've just as easily gone with the Fantastic Caramel Frenzy, the Sparkling Disco Party, or the Sweet Rainbow Fever. Fuck, the Sweet Rainbow Fever would've made an awesome pride-themed Instagram post.

He also orders the Dutch Delight Dog, a hotdog covered in pesto cream and cheese. He kind of can't believe this place is real, especially when the server comes back with his shake. It's served on a wooden block and in a Mason jar with thick, warm chocolate sauce dripping down the sides and white and milk chocolate chips covering the thick swirl of whipped cream on top. He takes a picture for Instagram. Pride-themed or not, he's definitely posting it.

Everything tastes amazing. The server laughs when Louis expresses remorse over the empty table in front of him.

"You will have to come back," she says.

"I would love to," Louis says, following her to a counter to pay the bill.

After thanking her for the wonderful service, he steps out onto the dark street. It's misting heavily, so he pulls his hood up and walks toward the city center. The heart of Amsterdam isn't as obvious as Athens. There is no ancient ruin raised high above centuries upon centuries of urban sprawl. Louis knows that the red light district is a popular tourist destination, so he makes his way there and joins throngs of people along a crowded canal. He's surprised to see families passing the red-lit windows of sex workers, moms and dads hand-in-hand with their small children.

Louis walks by a busy theater advertising a live sex show. Most of the people waiting in line are American--Louis can hear their accents as he eyes the marquee. He continues on, wishing the pungent stench of weed wasn't so strong. As much as he used to enjoy lighting up with Liam and Zayn, the smell made his head swim. Even before he took his first hit.

He smiles at the girls in the windows, hands buried in the pockets of his parka. Most of them smile back. A few beckon and he shakes his head politely. They wave him on and search for the next potential customer. He's almost at the end of the canal when someone stumbles out of an open glass door. Louis' breath hitches when he recognizes the familiar chaos of curls.

"Later, lovely," Harry slurs in a sultry voice. The pretty brunette blows him a kiss, clearly enamored, before closing her door and drawing a thick red curtain over the glass. Louis' stomach clenches at the thought of the mess she's about to clean up. Harry's mess.

Harry is wearing a charcoal gray coat that hits mid-thigh. Louis lets his gaze wander from Harry's broad shoulders to the camel-colored Chelsea boots on his feet. Everything about Harry looks cozy and inviting, even though Louis can tell he's drunk. Or perhaps just high. There seems to be a coffee shop on each canal, and Louis has heard stories about how strong the weed is in Amsterdam.

After following Harry over a crowded bridge, Louis works up the courage to reach out and put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Um," he says, which isn't exactly the inspirational sermon he planned out. It was easy enough to coach himself on the plane, feeling invincible in his big first-class seat. If only he'd asked for champagne instead of soda. It would've worn off by now, but maybe he could've ordered a beer and Bulls and Dogs as well. He could've gotten a nice buzz going.

"L-Louis?" Harry blinks, looking Louis up and down. "Is that really you?"

"Yes," Louis says without hesitation. He worries that Harry is too high to realize that this isn't a hallucination. "It's me, Harry. I'm here."

Harry cards both hands through his hair in bewilderment that quickly turns to belligerence.

"What, so you followed me? You fucking followed me. Oh god, Niall put you up to this, didn't he? _Didn't he_?"

"Don't be angry with Niall," Louis pleads. "Be angry with me. You can be as angry as you want, okay? It doesn't matter. I'm not leaving."

Harry drops his hands and looks out at the red lights reflected in the dark water of the canal. He mutters something darkly, and Louis only manages to catch the words "dodged" and "bullet." Fuck.

"Harry, I didn't mean any of it. Everything I said that morning, when you were wasted--I was so fucking wrong."

Harry puts a hand over his mouth, clearly stressed out. Louis hears him mutter what sounds like the same sentence as before. He pulls Harry's hand away and says, "What are you saying?"

"You should've been smarter, you modest genius."

Harry's words take Louis back to that night in Athens, when Louis told him about U of Chicago. When they would've kept talking until sunup if they didn't crave sleep so badly.

"What do you mean?"

Harry takes Louis' face in his strong hands, and the look of fearful adoration on his face is unmistakable. He kisses Louis hard, biting the soft, pink swell of Louis' bottom lip and clashing their teeth together. After a few moments he pulls away, just barely, and growls against Louis' flaming cheek, "You should've dodged the bullet."


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh my god, Harry. What the hell did you just order?"

" _Poffertjes_ ," Harry says easily.

"Poffter-what?"

Harry laughs. "Relax, Louis. You'll love them. I promise."

And because Louis trusts Harry with his life, he decides to trust Harry with his breakfast food.

Twenty minutes later, Harry fulfills his promise.

"Holy fuck." Louis gapes at the plates in front of them. Each one is covered in a pile of pancake puffs, whipped cream, and fresh strawberries. " _Harry_. No way."

Harry rolls his eyes affectionately when Louis pulls his phone out and takes a picture of their plates.

"You're so embarrassing, Louis. Can't take you anywhere."

"Are you kidding? Everyone loves food porn," Louis says, uploading the picture to Instagram without a filter.

"Ignoring that," Harry says, flicking a forkful of whipped cream at Louis. It lands on Louis' hand and he licks it away. "Did you sleep well?"

Louis blushes down at his _poffertjes_. "Obviously."

They didn't fuck last night. Louis was too tired from a long day of travel and he wanted nothing more than to cuddle Harry beneath the comforter as rain fell outside. They fell asleep with Harry's back pressed against Louis' chest. Louis threw his arm around Harry's chest and nudged a leg between Harry's legs for good measure. Just before Louis fell asleep, he heard Harry mumble, "Feel so safe, Lou. So, sooo safe."

Louis isn't sure Harry remembers saying that. He's not even sure Harry was awake at the time. He was probably asleep and dreaming of a parallel universe in which being with Louis makes him feel totally protected.

"Me too," Harry says, spearing a strawberry and two _poffertjes_ on his fork. "Best sleep of my life."

Louis smiles. "Of your whole life?"

"Well, maybe not my _whole_ life. I had this sick pram growing up. Mum used to walk around Holmes Chapel until I fell asleep. Worked really well, apparently."

"So it was the best night's sleep you've had since you were an infant." Louis pretends to consider this for a moment. Then he shrugs. "Okay. I'll take it."

Once they finish eating, Louis insists on paying the bill.

"My flight was free, my Airbnb is free, and you are an actual angel for introducing me to these. I didn't think pancakes could glow-up, but you proved me wrong."

Harry relents, but only because the bill is twelve euro. Louis has a sneaking suspicion that Harry will choose an expensive restaurant for dinner and call them even when he pays upwards of a hundred euro for wine and a several-course meal.

Whatever. Louis likes when Harry annoys him. And he likes holding Harry's hand when they walk through museums. And he likes pulling Harry behind trees and making out with his stupid-beautiful face.

After a few hours in the Rijksmuseum and a walk through Vondelpark, Harry introduces Louis to stroopwafels. Louis watches in awe as a man behind the counter spreads thick golden syrup between two warm, fresh thins of round dough.

"I literally hate you," Louis says, his mouth tingling as the sugar overwhelms him. He takes a second bite, then a third.

"That good?" Harry smirks, eating his own stroopwafel much slower. Louis' stomach flips as Harry sucks a drip of caramel sauce off his thumb.

"It's _incredible_."

"Have you ever loved anything more?"

_Yes_.

"I don't think it'd be possible to love anything more than this."

Harry chuckles and throws an arm over Louis' shoulder. Louis snuggles closer, inhaling deeply. He can't help it--Harry's long woolen coat smells so good. So _Harry_.

"I have a surprise," Harry announces. "You up for it?"

"Depends," Louis says. "If it's another stroopwafel, I might die."

"But you'd die happy," Harry points out.

"That's true."

"Don't worry, though. No more sweets. C'mon, it's this way."

Louis gladly lets himself be guided through the city. Harry explains that most of the buildings are crooked because the ground here is swampy, causing the structures to sink and tilt.

"Like Disneyworld," Louis says. "The land was supercheap because it was a swamp."

"Yes, Louis. Amsterdam and Disneyworld are basically the same."

Louis elbows Harry in the ribs, as if the flames don't dance each time Harry makes a teasing comment.

They return to one of the gates marking the entrance to Vondelpark. Louis thinks they must be going back inside and starts to turn.

"Wrong way," Harry says, steering him into a crosswalk. "Watch out for the bikes."

The bikes are the scariest part of Amsterdam, without a doubt. Louis was nearly hit so many times that Harry started tucking him under his arm for protection.

They approach a line of people standing on a narrow wooden dock. Harry pulls two tickets out of his pocket and checks the time on his phone.

"Our cruise leaves in ten minutes."

"Cruise?"

"We're going to enjoy the canals the way they're meant to be enjoyed. By boat."

It sounds so fun, Louis can't help throwing his arms around Harry to say thank you. To his surprise, Harry reciprocates. And they stay like that, wrapped in each other's arms, until it's time to board.

The boat is long and shallow. Most of it is inside--diner-like booths spread out beneath a ceiling of rain-streaked glass. Louis is about to slide into an empty booth when Harry's hands wrap around his waist from behind.

"Keep going," Harry whispers, his lips close to Louis' ear. "All the way to the back."

Louis reaches the last table and glances at Harry. Harry reaches over him and pushes a door open.

"Outside," he says, holding it open to Louis can go first.

"It's so much better out here," Louis says excitedly, choosing a spot on the cushioned bench seat that wraps around the back of the boat. A Dutch flag hangs from a pole, catching the breeze as Harry sits beside Louis.

"Everyone's too afraid of a little rain to sit out here," Harry says, holding Louis close. "We'll have it to ourselves."

"This is perfect," Louis says, and he's talking about their seats. But he's also talking about this city. About this summer. About Harry.

Louis takes his phone out for a selfie and sees that Lottie just commented on his Instagram post. The caption-less poffertjes.

_omg Lou, you and @harrystyles look amazing in this pic!! hehe_

"Shit," Louis says. "Fuck."

"What's wrong, baby?"

Louis shows him the comment and rushes, "But don't worry, she only commented a minute ago. I can delete it before anyone sees."

Harry just shrugs and looks ahead. "You don't have to delete it."

Louis stares at the sharp indifference of Harry's jawbone.

"But I…someone might see it and wonder why you're hanging out with a random Californian in Amsterdam." Louis bites his bottom lip and adds, "My profile isn't private."

"I know."

"You know?"

Harry smiles. If Louis didn't know better, he'd say Harry almost looked embarrassed.

"I found your profile the same day I followed Lottie."

Louis gapes at him in mock horror. "And you didn't even think to follow _me_?"

Harry looks apologetic until he realizes Louis is messing with him.

"Sod off," Harry says fondly, running a tattooed hand through Louis' soft hair.

"So what did you think?" Louis asks, leaning into Harry's touch.

"Of what?"

"Of my profile, idiot."

"Oh. Well, I jerked off to it quite a few times, so yeah. I'd say your pictures are very, very good."

Louis laughs in disbelief. "You didn't."

Harry has the decency to look a little ashamed when he says, "I did."

"It was the picture of the cupcake, wasn't it? The Sprinkles cupcake I posted the last time I was at the Grove? That's the picture you looked at."

Harry grins and noses into Louis' hair. "Yes, Louis. I got off to that cupcake so many times. It might've been the way the frosting was so lovingly spread on top. Or maybe the angle you took it from. Or even the lighting--bright, but not overexposed. Goddamn, that fucking cupcake. So fucking sexy."

Louis can't stop laughing at the thought of Harry being turned on by an overpriced red velvet cupcake. He feels giddy as the canal cruise starts. A server appears to take their drink orders, which are apparently included in the ticket price. They both order Heineken.

"Tastes a bit shit," Harry decides after a few sips. "But when in Amsterdam, yeah?"

"I like it," Louis decides, downing his beer in no time. "And the bottle matches your eyes." He holds the empty bottle at arms length and takes a picture of it with the Dutch flag waving in the background.

"Can't take you anywhere," Harry groans, pulling Louis onto his lap once he puts his phone away and sets the empty bottle on the ground. He kisses Louis' neck fiercely, but doesn't bite down hard enough to leave a bruise. Louis thinks that Harry might be saving those kisses for later, and trembles at the thought.

"Careful, Styles. Someone might see."

"Quiet, Tomlinson. I don't give a shit about anyone but you right now."

So Louis lets Harry kiss his neck. And he definitely doesn't argue when Harry guides Louis' head down so they can make out. After a particularly deep, sloppy kiss, Harry pulls away and gives Louis a look.

"Louis, you're distracting me from the tour. I paid eighteen euro to cruise around these fucking canals and--" he waves an arm vaguely "--see the fucking sights."

Louis rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around Harry's neck.

"Stop kissing me, then."

"You're the one kissing me," Harry protests.

"Yeah, right."

"It's true. You can't help yourself. You're obsessed with me."

Louis turns away from the teasing quirk of Harry's lips. He knows Harry is only joking, and it stings a little. Because it's not a joke. Louis is basically obsessed with Harry. He's basically completely and irrecoverably obsessed.

The cruise is two hours long, and it's beautiful. Louis loves looking up at the skinny buildings and watching people eat dinner and smoke with their legs dangling over the side of the canals. A few holy beams of light spear through the storm at sunset, turning silver clouds pink along the horizon.

"I'm sorry about the weather," Harry says, as if he controls it. "The sunset would've been magic if it weren't for the clouds."

"Shut up. This is magic."

"You really think so?"

Louis nods, unable to speak. They pass beneath a bridge and he reaches up to run his fingers over the cold, damp brick. He wants to touch everything here--to place his hands on all the buildings so that a hundred years from now, they remember that Louis Tomlinson once walked these streets and sailed these canals. The summer before starting college, he laughed and ate and loved in this city. He doesn't want Amsterdam to ever forget. He doesn't want to ever forget.

"Are you happy?" Harry asks, stroking Louis' hair absently. It's sprinkling now, but Louis doesn't move to pull his hood on. He wants the rain to wash over him.

"Never been happier," Louis says, surprised when the honest answer slips out.

Harry makes a contented noise deep in his throat and kisses the sensitive skin behind Louis' earlobe.

"I don't want this to end," Louis whispers, smiling as a private boat approaches them. There's an ice bucket of champagne next to the motor and hip-hop music is playing from a small speaker. Before the boat passes by, a woman reaches out a plastic flute of champagne to Louis.

"Young love!" she calls, smiling widely when Louis takes the flute and raises it in a toast.

"Want some?" he says, taking a few delicate sips.

"Yes, please."

They finish the champagne too soon. Harry thinks it tastes like crap, but Louis says that's just because he's a snob.

"You may be used to Taste of Diamonds, or whatever, but to mere mortals, this champagne is perfectly adequate."

"'Perfectly adequate' is never how your drinks should taste," Harry counters. "And I've only tried Taste of Diamonds once in my life. Maybe twice."

" _Maybe_ twice?"

"It was at my second album release party. I got fucked up."

"So fucked up that you can't remember if you drank the world's most expensive champagne? Good god."

Harry flashes a look of mock regret. "Please, Father, I repent for my sins. Or whatever people say in church."

"Wouldn't know. My dad chose football over church, so we never went. Of course, he still made sure Lottie and I knew we were bad kids--sinners. I grew up thinking I'd for sure go to hell. If not for the shit my dad screamed about, then because I was gay."

"Fuck him. If I ever saw that asshole, I don't even know what I'd do."

"I'm glad you'll never meet him," Louis says. "I used to be afraid of becoming him, you know? Like, I'd spend years hating my dad, but ultimately turn out the same."

"You'll never be anything like him, Louis."

"I hope not."

"You won't. You're a good person and he's a piece of shit. There's a big fucking difference between the two."

Louis smiles at the ardent conviction in Harry's words. He doesn't know how to adequately thank Harry for saying such things, so he just kisses him. And kisses him again. And again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PSA more smut.

As Louis suspected, Harry chooses a ridiculously overpriced restaurant for dinner. They stand outside, looking over the menu, and Louis quickly decides that he's not willing to let Harry spend this much money on a meal. He tugs on Harry's coat sleeve until Harry leans toward him. Then he whispers conspiratorially, "This looks nice and all, but I'm in the mood for something way different. I reeeally want a hot dog."

  
Harry looks at him with wide eyes. "Are you talking dirty to me, Louis? In front of this extremely respectable establishment?"

  
"God, no," Louis shakes his head. "I mean, not that I'd be opposed…after we've eaten--ugh, _Harry_. I actually know a place. They do hot dogs and milkshakes."

  
"And here I was, calling myself the tour guide." Harry tangles his fingers with Louis'. "Lead the way."

  
The same server is working at Bulls and Dogs. She laughs when Louis confidently pushes through the plastic fringe and sits at the same table as yesterday.

  
"I take it you two have met," Harry mutters, sliding onto the bench seat next to Louis.

  
"I might've come here last night."

  
"And it was so good, we're back for seconds?"

  
"It's so, sooo good Harold. Trust me."

  
Louis orders two Sweet Rainbow Fevers and Dutch Delight Dogs, nearly bouncing at the thought of all the sugar they're about to consume.

  
"Did you get the Sweet Rainbow Fever yesterday?"

  
"No, and I regretted it. Sounds deliciously gay, don't you think?"

  
Harry laughs and shakes his head. "Should even I ask if this is going to result in another Instagram post?"

  
"Don't ask questions you don't wanna know the answer to."

  
"Knew it," Harry groans. "Can't take you anywhere, Tomlinson."

  
But Harry can't hide his amazement when the server appears with their milkshakes.

  
"We're going to die," he says, eyeing the mountain of whipped cream with some trepidation. "What flavor is this? Besides rainbow, of course."

  
"Strawberry," the server says, smiling brightly. "Enjoy."

  
Louis eats a spoonful of whipped cream and pink milkshake and almost topples over.

  
"Holyfuckingshit," he moans. "This can't be real. I'm dreaming. Here, Harry, pinch me. I need to know this is happening."

  
"Jesus, Louis," Harry says in a low voice, "I wish you could muster up the enthusiasm to sound half this aroused when I get you off."

  
He pinches Louis' nipple through his parka and thin sweater. Louis yelps and holds a spoonful of milkshake like a threat.

  
"Don't make me retaliate," Louis warns.

  
Harry holds his hands up. "Truce. This is good though. So fucking good."

  
"Told you," Louis says, feeling a little like the bratty know-it-alls he hated in school.

  
After dinner, they return to the Airbnb. It's on a quiet canal, empty boats cluttering both edges of the waterway. All the houses have steps leading to the front door, and most are dripping with overgrown houseplants. Louis reaches out and trails his fingers though the delicate brush of a fern.

  
"Do you think I'll ever be able to look at a plant and only think about how it's a pretty shade of green?" he wonders. "Or am I doomed to see plants from now on and think of your eyes?"

  
Harry doesn't respond. When Louis glances over, he's looking at the ground.

  
"Harry? Is everything okay?"

  
Harry shrugs.

  
"You can tell me. Whatever it is--just talk to me."

  
They're in front of the Airbnb. Louis stops walking but Harry continues on. Louis grabs Harry's shoulders and holds tight.

  
"This is us, Harry," he says quietly, pointing at the top floor with its peaked roof and white eaves like icing. "Our Airbnb."

  
"Oh. Right." Harry dazedly looks up and starts grabbing for the key in his coat pocket.

  
"Harry, please stop. _Please_. I want to know what's wrong before we go inside."

  
Harry has the key in his hand, but he makes no move to climb the steps and unlock the front door.

  
"Do you really see green things and…and think of me?"

  
Louis shifts his weight uncertainly. Does Harry want him to say yes or no?

  
He settles on a noncommittal half-truth: "I was joking, kind of."

  
"Mhm."

  
"Fuck, I dunno," Louis snaps. "What's the right answer to that question?"

  
Harry gives him a painfully pleading look. "Louis, you shouldn't care about me. Especially not that much. Not so much that things remind you of my eyes."

  
"Should I apologize, then? Say sorry because I care too much?"

  
"No, I should apologize. Because I've already seen the end of us, and we're both alone and in tears. I'm letting this happen right before my tour--right before I leave and never look back."

  
"Well, thanks for the spoiler alert," Louis spits, afraid of the hot tears burning beneath his eyelids when he blinks. The fire is in his eyes now. "Guess I don't have to watch the last episode now."

  
"Louis, don't cry. God, I'm such an asshole." Harry harshly runs his hands through his rain-soaked hair.

  
"Yeah, you are," Louis warbles. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and presses them against his tear ducts.

  
"I'm only going to disappoint you, Lou. I'm going to disappoint you and break your heart."

  
Fuck the tears, they can fall if they want. Louis stops blotting at his eyes and grabs the front of Harry's coat. For a terrible moment, he wants to shove Harry as far away as possible. But then he pulls Harry closer, until their chests are touching.

  
"You could never disappoint me," he says, and when Harry opens his mouth to protest, he shakes his head. "Having my heart broken by you wouldn't be a disappointment. It would be an honor."

  
Harry gazes down in wonder. "So we should just…live in the moment."

  
"Yeah, Harry. We should live in the fucking moment."

  
Harry grasps the back of Louis's neck and kisses him wildly, without any sign of restraint. The kiss makes Louis think that time is nothing but numbers and sunsets. The kiss is Harry's way of showing him that a single second and a whole infinity are the same thing. The kiss reminds Louis of how breakable they are. The kiss assures him that they will never break.

  
They stumble up the steps, hands and feet and lips LouisHarryLouisHarry. Louis whimpers when Harry shoves him against the door and puts his long leg between Louis' thighs.

  
"You like it when I'm rough?" Harry rasps, gripping Louis' hips.

  
Louis nods frantically. "Like it."

  
"Mmm, _baby_." Harry digs into Louis' sides when Louis ruts forward against his thigh. "Let me unlock the door."

  
But Louis doesn't move so Harry has better access to the lock, doesn't stop grinding against Harry's leg. Harry tips his head back when Louis tugs his shirt collar down and sucks kisses into the swallow tattoos there.

  
"You're gonna make me drop the key, love. We wouldn't want to lose it and be stuck out in the cold, would we?"

  
"Keep each other warm," Louis murmurs against Harry's neck.

  
Harry chuckles. "Good point, but I still think we should take this inside."

  
Louis reluctantly pulls away so that Harry can unlock the front door. Inside, they kick off their shoes and go upstairs. Halfway to the third floor, Harry grabs Louis for a piggyback ride and nearly runs the rest of the way to their apartment. Louis shouts in surprise, dizzy with laughter and anticipation and Harry.

  
Harry quickly lets them into the Airbnb and slams the door shut. His shucks his coat and does the same with Louis' parka, dumping both unceremoniously on the floor. The room is awash in eerie yellow light from outside. Louis glances out the rain-streaked window and watches a lone biker disappear into the night.

  
"You're so beautiful, Louis."

  
A small, somewhat embarrassed smile crosses Louis' face. No one has ever called him beautiful before. Well, one boyfriend called Louis' blowjob skills beautiful, but that hardly counts.

  
"You're just saying that because you wanna fuck me."

  
Louis crosses the room and stands facing the bed. Harry is shirtless and sprawled out on the thick cream-colored duvet, long legs spread like an invitation. Louis crawls between them and sits on his knees.

  
"No," Harry says, grabbing Louis' hand and placing it above his butterfly tattoo. "I'm saying it because my heart tries to beat its fucking way out of my chest every time you look at me."

  
Louis bites his bottom lip, completely overwhelmed. Harry is so unlike the paintings they saw today in the Rijksmuseum. He's Baroque, but with all the idealization and majesty that was lacking in works commissioned during the Dutch Golden Age.

  
"I feel the same way," Louis says weakly. "I've felt like this ever since the first night."

  
Harry tugs Louis toward him. At first, Louis is afraid to let his body settle on top of Harry's. What if Harry thinks he weighs too much?

  
He forgets his self-consciousness at the first brush of Harry's lips. And when Harry reaches around to dig his long fingers into the fullness of Louis' ass, Louis moans and ruts against Harry's half-hard cock. It seems to have a strong and immediate effect on Harry, because before Louis can register what's happening, he's on his back against the pillows and Harry is above him on all fours.

  
"Imagined I was fucking you last night," Harry says, kissing down Louis' chest to his tummy.

  
"In the red light district?"

  
"Mmm," Harry nods, biting lightly into the soft flesh of Louis' right hip. "Most of them are blonde, so I had to find one with brown hair and blue eyes. She wasn't as gorgeous as you, though."

  
Louis is ashamed at the jealousy he feels toward the sex worker. She was just doing her job, but the way she looked at Harry's retreating form before pulling the curtain closed made Louis think she enjoyed it.

  
"I want you to fuck me," Louis gasps, bucking his hips when Harry mouths at his clothed cock. "I-I've never been fucked before."

  
Harry looks up, clearly startled. "So you usually top?"

  
"I--uh, no. I've never had sex before." Louis squirms a little, wondering if this admission will make him seem less appealing. "I've never wanted to."

  
"But you want to…with me?"

  
Louis nods, chewing at his bottom lip. "Is that okay?"

  
Harry responds by unzipping Louis' black jeans and dragging them down to his ankles. He does the same with the underwear before kissing the pale inside of Louis' thighs. Then he licks over the head of Louis' cock slowly, as if he's savoring the precome. Louis jaw drops at the sight, at the feeling. In all of his mediocre relationships before this, Louis was the one who sucked his boyfriend or booty call off. They'd reciprocate with a handjob, but only if he wowed them. Otherwise they'd say thanks and ask if he wanted to swing by In-N-Out before going home.

  
And Louis thought that it was okay--that it was fair for others to treat him this way. His dad didn't give a shit about whether Louis was happy or not, so why should it be any different with the guys Louis met on Tinder? Louis didn't need to be loved, or even cared for. He would swipe right whenever he saw a cute face or a hot body and end the night alone. At least he had Liam and Zayn to call whenever a guy told him he was "ugly compared to the pictures" and that Louis must've "filtered the shit out of them to look halfway decent."

  
Louis thought that he would feel uncomfortable if someone showed him true affection. He was afraid that he would feel ashamed and unworthy of attention. But Harry doesn't just make him feel worthy. He makes Louis feel worshipped.

  
Harry takes Louis into his mouth, moaning encouragingly when Louis' hips stutter helplessly. Louis touches Harry's curls like he did the fern and the bridge--lingeringly, so that he won't soon be forgotten. Then he fucks up into Harry's mouth, sighing happily when Harry's nose touches his stomach. Of course Harry can take all of Louis without gagging.

  
After a few more thrusts, Harry pulls off and reaches across the bed. There's lube in the nightstand drawer, where the Gideon Bible is usually hidden.

  
"Why do you have that?" Louis asks, mesmerized by the sight of Harry slicking up his long fingers.

  
Harry shrugs. "Used it my first night here."

  
"W-what did you think about?"

  
Harry gives Louis a look like it should already be obvious. And it is obvious, but Louis still wants to hear him say it.

  
"You."

  
Louis smiles. "What were you doing to me?"

  
Harry laughs. "You really wanna know?"

  
"Yeah."

  
Harry shakes his head in disbelief. "Well, we were over there, on the couch. You were watching something on your phone--a dumb music video. And I started kissing your neck, which made you drop the phone. I fingered you for a while because we were going to fuck, but then you came early so I, uh, fucked your face instead."

  
Louis slides off the bed before Harry is done talking.

  
"Where are you going?" Harry asks, following Louis with his eyes.

  
"What music video?"

  
"What?"

  
"The dumb music video I was watching. Do you remember which one?"

  
Harry shakes his head. "That wasn't exactly the detail I was most focused on."

  
Louis grabs his phone from the pocket of his discarded parka. He's connected to the Wi-Fi last night, so he opens YouTube and searches for a music video.

  
"Are you going to just sit there?"

  
Harry scratches behind his ear with the hand that's not wet with lube. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing."

  
Louis rolls his eyes. "We're recreating your fantasy."

  
"Oh. _Oh_." Harry climbs off the bed and follows Louis to the couch. "Are you sure, though? If you want to have sex in the bed, we can do that."

  
"Another time," Louis says, giving Harry a reassuring kiss. "Now, seduce me so I don't have to actually watch this dumb music video."

  
Harry looks down at Louis' phone and cracks up when he sees that Louis searched for one of Harry's early music videos.

  
"Rude," he says.

  
"But funny."

  
"Maybe a little." Harry kisses up Louis neck and sucks delicately on his earlobe. It makes Louis shiver and toss the phone aside.

  
"That was easy," Harry mumbles, and Louis can feel the smile against his jawbone.

  
"Don't be too smug," Louis snaps, but it's hard to act sassy when Harry is very, very naked and very, very hard.

  
"Take my pants off," Harry orders roughly. "Now."

  
Louis loves being obedient. Loves doing exactly what Harry tells him to. He unzips them and tugs them down to Harry's knees along with the briefs. He's about to strip them off completely when Harry impatiently leans down for a feral, openmouthed kiss. He forces Louis back against the couch arm and shoves a knee between Louis' quivering thighs.

  
"Tell me how much you want it," he whispers against Louis' lips.

  
"I--fuck--" He feels Harry's index finger slip between his ass cheeks. It's a teasing touch. Not pressing, just feeling.

  
"Tell me."

  
" _Harry_ ," Louis whines. "Want you inside me."

  
"You've never wanted anyone else, have you?"

  
Louis shakes his head, chest tight beneath the fearsome weight of Harry's tigerish gaze. He can't speak. Can't do anything but look into Harry's blown pupils and hope for mercy. For release.

  
"Please," he breathes, rocking his hips against Harry's evasive touch. "Need it. Need _you_."

  
Harry pushes a finger inside him then. A strangled sound rips from Louis throat, because it hurts at first. But the pain quickly stretches into pleasure, and his lips part as the feeling overtakes him.

  
"Good?" Harry asks, licking over Louis' hard nipples and maintaining a steady rhythm with his finger.

  
"Mhm."

  
"Good. You're so _good_ , baby. You know that?"

  
Louis nods, eyes drifting shut. "So good."

  
"I'm going to add another finger. Does that sound okay?"

  
"Harry," Louis sighs, grinding down on Harry's hand in earnest.

  
"Fuck, you're tight," Harry says, stretching Louis out with two fingers. "Can't wait to fuck you. Make you come on my cock--you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  
Louis is about to respond, but then Harry hits his prostate and Louis jolts with the feeling. He can't utter a single syllable. It feels better than any blowjob Louis has received, better than the time Louis tried riding his own fingers. It was frustrating, knowing he wanted it in the ass but being unable to get himself off that way. But now, with Harry's long fingers, it's finally possible.

  
Louis opens his eyes and sees Harry watching his fingers plunge in and out of Louis' hole. He reaches for Harry's leaking cock, wanting Harry to feel so good while he makes Louis feel so good. But Harry pushes Louis' hand away and growls, "'m gonna make you come now, Louis. Do you wanna come?"

  
"Y-yes."

  
Harry adds a third finger and Louis cries out. He's close--so close. When Harry drapes himself over Louis, humping Louis' thigh in time with his thrusting fingers, he feels his whole body clench with a sudden burst of feeling. He comes across his tummy in thick stripes, trembling through the orgasm. He's about to smile and tell Harry how wonderful it felt when Harry moves his knees below Louis' armpits. Louis gulps at the blushing head of Harry's cock, dripping with precome. When Harry nudges it against his lips, Louis opens his mouth and lets Harry push inside.

  
"Look at me," Harry orders, relentlessly fucking deep into Louis' throat.

  
Louis groans at the savage look on Harry's face, a heady mix of adoration and aggression. Harry caresses the back of Louis' head before gripping it tight and thrusting hard and fast.

  
Louis is afraid he'll choke if Harry comes down his throat from this extreme angle. But Harry seems to be aware of this, pulling out of Louis' wet mouth right before he finishes. He doesn't look away from Louis' wide eyes as he jerks himself off with a few lazy strokes, coming all over Louis' neck and chest.

  
Louis watches as Harry dips a finger into his come and offers it for Louis to taste. Louis licks the come off the tip of Harry's finger before sucking it down to the knuckle and swirling his tongue.

  
"You're perfect," Harry says, leaning down to kiss Louis' forehead. "Let's go wash."

  
They shower together, exchanging soft, soapy kisses. Louis washes Harry's curls with a tangy, citrus-smelling shampoo and Harry slides a soap-slick hand down Louis' back and between his ass cheeks. But the most unbelievable moment is when Harry bends to wash Louis' feet. He uses a bar of blue soap, lathering it against his palms before massaging Louis clean. When he stands up, Louis pushes him against the dewy shower tile and kisses a thousand thank yous across his tattooed body.

  
Louis wears one of Harry's T-shirts to bed. Nothing else. It reaches mid-thigh, like a dress, and Harry laughs when Louis does a twirl.

  
"Cutest thing I've ever seen," he says, patting the bed beside him. Louis joins him, resting against his bare chest and tracing the butterfly with a tentative index finger.  
"Do you like Amsterdam?"

  
Louis looks up at Harry through his lashes. "I love it."

  
"I can't believe you haven't been here before."

  
"I hadn't been to Europe before we moved to Hydra."

  
"I want to take you everywhere. Prague, Paris--cities outside Europe too. I love South America. Japan is sick."

  
"But you've already been to those places."

  
"I haven't been there with you."

  
Louis nuzzles against Harry's chest, wondering why Harry is hinting at some kind of future between them. A future in which they get to travel the world together, ensuring every city they visit never forgets them.

  
"Do you mean it?"

  
"Mean what?"

  
Louis retraces the butterfly to avoid meeting Harry's gaze.

  
"Do you want to visit those places again? With me?"

  
Harry suddenly moves out from under Louis. Fuck, Louis took Harry's words too seriously, thinking of them as a promise for something beyond these few fleeting weeks. He should've dropped it. He needs to accept this for what it is: A summer fling.

  
Louis nervously watches as Harry finds his phone and unlocks it. What is Harry going to do--ignore Louis for the remainder of their stay in Amsterdam? They leave tomorrow afternoon, but still. A silent breakfast and flight would be nearly impossible to endure.

  
When a glittery song starts playing from Harry's phone, Louis shuffles back against the pillows and tries to figure out what's going on. Harry sets his phone on the edge of the bed and backs away, shimmying his shoulders and wiggling his hips. He looks so ridiculous, writhing around in nothing but black briefs, that Louis can't help laughing. Even if this is Harry's way of telling Louis off, Louis kind of loves it.

  
Then the beat starts, and Louis feels happy tears threaten to spill over. He knows this song. It used to play on the radio when his mom drove him to and from elementary school. She always turned up the volume when a Fleetwood Mac song came on.

  
Harry starts to sing along with Christine McVie, pointing directly at Louis during the chorus: "Oh I / I want to be with you everywhere / Oh I / I want to be with you everywhere."

  
Louis leaps up and joins Harry in the middle of the room. They dance around, a confusion of flailing limbs and shouted lyrics. Harry jumps on the couch and Louis waves his parka like a flag. They look like idiots and they can't stop giggling. When it's over, Louis collapses against Harry's chest and says, "I want to be with you everywhere, everywhere."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also on Wattpad with a v cute cover [here!](https://www.wattpad.com/story/129012546-everywhere?utm_source=web&utm_medium=email&utm_content=share_myworks)


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